


From betrothal to marriage

by ChocoNut



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Arranged Marriage, Before the events of Season 1, Courtship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:15:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22859851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: When he comes to know about Jaime and Cersei, Tywin Lannister wants to do everything he can to keep brother and sister away from each other. The best solution, of course, would be to get Jaime married and off to Casterly Rock.Meanwhile, Lord Selwyn Tarth summons his daughter from the Stormlands to give her some news. He has a proposal for her that he cannot say no to.Takes place before the events of Season 1.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 262
Kudos: 601





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More time means more fic!!  
> Thank you for reading and do let me know if you enjoyed it.

As soon as she reached home, Brienne rushed to her father’s chambers to ensure all was well with him.

“My dear.” He rose to his feet, greeting her with a joyful smile when she approached him. His reaction left her a little perplexed; the eagerness on his face and the enthusiasm in his tone gave no indication of an emergency or there being something amiss. “It is so good to see you again.”

“Are you well, father?” she inquired, anxiously examining his eyes for concealed signs of ill-health.

“Well, of course!” he exclaimed, sticking out his chest and standing up straight. He looked fine, the imposing figure he had always been, the colour on his face and his bright blue eyes telling her that her assumption was far from correct. “What could possibly be wrong with me?”

Brienne frowned, still unable to unravel the entirety of the situation. While she was, without question, relieved and thankful that nothing untoward had struck the Evenstar, she failed to understand the urgency in his message. “Why did you ask me to hurry back home then?” she asked, remembering the way her fingers had trembled when she had skimmed through the seemingly panic-filled letter.

It was her father’s turn to look confused. “I didn’t mention anything at all about myself. I only urged you to sail at once and return to be with me.”

 _Come back home, Brienne,_ he had written. _There is a matter of utmost importance that awaits you here; something that cannot be put off for later. Do not delay, my child, lest it might be too late..._

When Brienne had first read these words, particularly the last line, danger flashed before her eyes, because why else would her father summon her from the Stormlands after all these years? Why, if there wasn’t a dire need for her to be home again, would she be uprooted from what she had accepted and embraced as her life and purpose?

“My fault,” she admitted sheepishly, deciding not to jump to conclusions anymore. “I thought you wanted me here because you were--”

“Dying?” Her father laughed and shrugged away her worry. “I have many more years left in me, Brienne.” Sensing her rising irritation, he became serious again. “There is something I wish to discuss with you, Brienne.”

Brienne sat down with a sigh. Something told her this wasn’t going to be simple.

Her father dropped his eyes down to his desk and drummed at the table for a few seconds before he met her gaze. “There is a proposal for you--”

Agitated, she jumped to her feet. “Father--”

“Sit down and hear me out, Brienne,” he said, weary and suddenly looking older than his fifty years, his wrinkles more prominent than ever.

Fuming, she decided not to pay heed to anything he might try to trap her in, but complied with his request, nevertheless, and returned to her chair. “I am not made for marriage,” she quietly reminded him, the bitterness of three disastrous betrothals weighing her down. “I am no lady.”

“This alliance is not like the others before it,” her father tried to explain. “He is no weakling nor an old man.” 

Despite her resentment of the suggestion itself, Brienne slipped into curiosity wondering who it could probably be. Whoever it was didn’t obviously know who she was or what she looked like. 

“He is no landed knight either,” her father said, and she accidentally bit her lip, the rose Red Ronnet had given her swimming across her mind, “but a proper one, well known for his swordsmanship.”

“I don’t care who it is,” Brienne tersely dismissed him. “I have no intention of leaving Lord Renly’s side and settling to a life that would keep me unhappy forever.”

Her father rubbed his eyes. “I have no intention of thrusting it upon you either, and I let Lord Tywin know quite clearly that you wouldn’t be the right match for his son--”

She sprang up to a state of alertness. “Lord Tywin Lannister’s son?”

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” her father revealed. “That’s who you’re destined to wed.”

Her heart began beating violently, banging against her ribs. “I want to have nothing to do with the Kingslayer,” she spat, the man’s well known arrogance, the rumours she’d heard about him and his sister, rousing in her, nothing but disgust, the prospect of a marital life with him, in his bed, leaving her with a sour taste in the mouth.

“I’m afraid Lord Tywin has _insisted_ on this union,” her father confided, “not asked for my consent.”

“And you’re worried if you turn him down--”

“We might incur the wrath of House Lannister,” he finished, reading her thoughts.

“You have already agreed to his terms.” Brienne suddenly felt weak, as if she might faint. “You decided to sacrifice me for the greater good.”

“Don’t look at it like that, Brienne.” Lord Selwyn reached across the table to clasp her hand. “Lord Tywin has invited us to stay with him at King’s Landing for a month, at the end of which you will be wed and taken to Casterly Rock, their ancestral home.”

She said nothing, her chest getting heavier and heavier with every word her father uttered.

“He wants his son to get to know you during that time, so you would be able to--” he paused as if in recollection “--get along better and build a productive life together.”

She could feel her lips twitching, her chin wobbling. “What if I refuse to go with this?”

He didn’t look angry, only helpless and pleading. “I would ask you to meet him, my dear, and then come to a conclusion.”

“What if, at the end of this awful month, I despise him as much as I do now?” She had made up her mind. Nothing could get her to warm up to the Kingslayer.

“Then I won’t compel you,” her father assured. “I will find a way to negotiate with Lord Tywin and never broach the subject of your marriage again.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I told you, father,” Jaime repeated for the third time, “I am a sworn Knight of the Kingsguard and that is what I wish to be--”

His father’s eyes blazed with fury and disapproval. “A glorified bodyguard?”

“Call me that if you must, but I am not made for marriage,” Jaime continued to put up a fight for his choices. Marriage would mean leaving Cersei’s side and welcoming another woman into his arms and his bed. Marriage, and the distance it would bring with it, would extinguish the only bright light in his life. “It would involve forsaking my vows, breaking a sacred oath--”

“What about your dalliances with your sister?” his father asked, his voice low and menacing. “By what law of the country is that permitted?”

Jaime felt the blood drain off his body. “Those are foul rumours--”

“Do you take me for an idiot?” So enraged his father was, that he could feel the sparks, not only off his words, but from every pore of his intelligent face. “Do you think I haven’t been observing you, your sister, your -- _children_?”

“So what if it is true?” Jaime admitted without regret, unable to hold it within him any longer. “I love Cersei and I see nothing wrong with it. The Targaryens have always--”

“We are not Targaryens. What if King Robert finds out that his children are the products of--” Tywin turned away in disgust. He paced back and forth, then returned to Jaime. “Your marriage is the only thing that can save Cersei’s and protect you both and the children from the wrath of the king--”

“The king had no inkling of it all these years, so I don’t see why he might--”

His father made an impatient noise. “You can’t carry on with your illicit relationship anymore, not when half the world has come to learn of it.”

“As far as the world is concerned, those are just rumours.” Nothing could drive a wedge between him and Cersei, not baseless shit like this, definitely, evidence for which, he was confident, would be impossible to gather.

“I had been to Highgarden, you know that, I presume?”

“I do,” Jaime replied, lost at the abrupt turn of subject.

“For what, can you guess?”

He shook his head, waiting for his father to elaborate.

“For years, I’ve had my doubts about you and Cersei. As soon as doubt turned into certainty, I wanted to get you married and douse the flames before they turned into a huge explosion, but--” Tywin met his eyes and Jaime could note the disappointment and shame in them. “I failed. Olenna Tyrell sent me away with an air of contempt when I sought the hand of her grand-daughter for you.” 

“Margaery Tyrell?” Surprise, though the odd choice first struck in him, on second thoughts, it was apt. At least in the eyes of his father, Highgarden wasn’t something he would want to take lightly.

“The old woman refused me, citing your reputation as her excuse,” Tywin went on bitterly, “along with hinting at her knowledge of whatever there is between you and your sister. She would not want to give her daughter to a man such as you, she said. Do you know what this implies, son?”

Jaime scoffed. “Her opinion doesn’t matter to me. Besides, she’s only going by the stories she has heard. She knows nothing--”

“She knows _everything_ , if she says she does,” his father shouted, shooting down his complacent dismissal. “That woman is one of the shrewdest I’ve met, with eyes and ears everywhere. If she knows--” He fixed Jaime with a penetrating look. “I don’t trust her to keep it to herself. Which is why I want you wed and out of here before Robert finds out, before anything untoward can happen.”

“I thought she refused my hand for Margaery,” Jaime said, confused by the web his father was spinning around him.

Tywin’s lips curved in a thin smile, the first since their conversation had begun. “I have another proposal for you. You will wed Lady Brienne of House Tarth.”

Despite his discontent, Jaime searched his brain, trying to call up some reference to the name. “Never heard of her.”

“She’s Lord Selwyn Tarth’s daughter,” informed his father, “from the Sapphire isles--”

“I will not consent to this,” Jaime vehemently refused, wanting to put an end to this before it could start, “nor to any other woman you pick for me.”

“If you care for Cersei’s wellbeing and that of your children, you will not hesitate to take my advice.” Tywin’s eyes softened when he lay a hand on Jaime’s arm. “Cersei is your sister, son,” he explained, as if to a child. “Let her stay that way. A wife is what you need. Lord Selwyn and his daughter will be here for a month, at the end of which, you will be wed at the Sept of Baelor. Shortly after, you will leave for Casterly Rock.”

Jaime’s frustration and helplessness had reached a peak. So it had all been decided without any consideration for his opinion. “What if I refuse to go with this?”

“I would ask you to meet her and then come to a conclusion,” his father coaxed him. “For Cersei’s sake, you must do this, even if you have no regard for my wishes.”

+++++

“Take Lady Brienne out for a walk in the gardens, son,” his father told him, but Jaime knew deep down that it was more a command than a suggestion. “Fresh air always helps in building acquaintances.”

Suppressing a groan, he prepared himself for the inevitable. This was going to be terrible. Absolutely awkward and pathetic and, perhaps, the worst evening of his life. But this was his fate, at least for a month, and he would have to put up with it. To find an excuse for his rejection of her was something he would have to work on later. But he would do so, surely.

Swallowing his discomfort, he got to his feet and held out a hand to his intended, trying not to dwell on how so un-like a lady she was. She accepted it, though with a scowl that did nothing to make her look any better than she was, and off they went, away from the comforting presence of others and out into the open with none but each other for company.

Once they were alone, she jerked his hand off and moved away from him.

“Am I that prickly?” Jaime asked, feeling a bit insulted. Most women he had met were ready to throw themselves at his feet, so this was a response he wasn’t quite prepared for.

Was that a blush on her freckled cheeks? But it was gone as soon as it had appeared, and grim and surly-faced again, she strolled on without an answer, careful to keep a respectable gap between them.

_Ugly, ungainly, mannish._

While those were the thoughts that came to his head when he first saw her, he couldn’t resist stealing glances at her from time to time. Her gait, he noticed, was far from a woman’s, part of her discomfort coming from her clothes, which he assumed, she was unaccustomed to. 

“My father expects me to court you,” he started, not knowing how else to begin a conversation, “to woo you and take you as my wife--”

She stopped and turned to him, her eyes burning bright, her fingers clenched into a fist. “I cannot marry you, Kingslayer--”

“Jaime,” he corrected, for some odd reason, her calling him that annoying him more than when it came from anyone else. “My name is Jaime.”

“Apologies,” she said, but looked far from sorry, her revulsion for him no less than the others before her. “I must be honest. I am not made for such a life.” Her tone was much softer this time, the fire in her eyes mellowing down to give them a sparkling sapphire-like shine. “At the end of this month I intend to turn down your proposal and return to my life of freedom.”

“We think alike then,” Jaime burst out, relieved that she wasn’t like the women who would do anything to end up in his bed. “I’m not interested in this marriage either.”

Her large blue eyes doubled in size. “Then why did you agree to it? You could’ve saved us both this agony.”

_Agony. That is what she perceives a life with me to be._

Jaime sighed. “Like you, I too was talked into it, compelled, to put it exactly.”

They walked a little more until Jaime led her to a bench in a corner. When they sat down, she spoke again. “How do you propose we go about it?” The pretty blue eyes were once again on his, seeking answers from him. Her eyes were the only striking feature on her; the sole gift the gods had blessed her with. A brilliant blue and full of life, they were, and Jaime found himself getting lost in them from time to time.

“Ser Jaime?”

“Yes?” he asked, blank for a second when he had torn his mind off those captivating pools. “Pardon me, I was lost in thought for a second.”

Dejected, she looked down at her hands, calling Jaime’s attention to them. Calloused and rough, a warrior’s hands, they were. “Your father won’t take no for an answer,” she lamented. “How do you intend to convince him to call off this betrothal?” 

“Well,” Jaime worked his brain for a plan, but none came to him right now. “We will have to live out this month. By that time, I’m quite sure I’ll be able to come up with something.”

His answer appeared to pacify her a bit and her features lost some of the hostility they had borne for him since they first met. “I’d appreciate that,” she said, getting up. “And now I must get back, Ser Jaime--”

“What do you intend to do with your life, wench?” he asked, tactless and blunt, glancing at her hands again. 

“Brienne,” she corrected him, making a face, “not wench.”

Ignoring her objection, he went on, a bit more precisely this time. “If not a life by the hearth, what would your heart’s desire be?”

She thought for a moment, but he could see a storm brewing in her eyes. “I wish to serve Lord Renly someday,” she declared, loud and proud. “I have pledged my life and sword to him and I will stand by him for as long as there is air within me and a weapon in my hand.”

“Renly, huh?” he thought aloud, not bothering to keep out the disdain in his voice. “What could he possibly have done to attract your affection?”

The luminous eyes spewed sparks at him again. “You will not speak of him like that, King-- Ser Jaime.”

Her indignation amused him, sowing in his head, another thought, a possible reason for her strong denial to this alliance. “Are you in love with him, my lady?”

“That’s none of your concern,” she barked, getting up and walking away in a huff. 

“Brienne, wait,” he called out, smiling at the angry blue eyes. “We may not want to get married, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

She looked at him for a second, then took off at a brisk pace, and he followed, bitten by a sudden urge to get to know her better. While everything was wrong with this woman, making her the worst possible match for him, he had to admit, there was _something_ about her.

Something refreshingly different from many others of her sex...

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we deal with a confused Brienne who meets with Cersei and goes through a lot more.

_How dare he speak so condescendingly of Renly?_

The numbing sensation in her right arm forced Brienne to switch sides and lie down on her left. But what was the use? By the time her right recovered, the left half of her body would be dead again and it would be time to change, the frustration stemming out of her inability to break free of the mess she’d been dragged into, refusing to leave her in peace. This was what she had been doing for hours, and with her restlessness only mounting as night sluggishly trudged along towards dawn, this was going to be the only way she would be spending the rest of it.

_How dare he pry into my mind?_

She couldn’t decide what annoyed her more - being called out on her feelings for Renly or the Kingslayer’s bluntness and intent to stick his nose in matters that didn’t concern him. Abandoning his company, she had thought, would help, to put him, his infuriating behaviour, his odd curiosity about her out of her head, but as soon as she was back to the solitary confinement of her chambers, disturbing thoughts had begun crawling into her mind again.

_How dare he mock my affection for Renly?_

If only she had the ability to shut out thoughts at will! How she wished she could push away his exasperatingly handsome face and those laughing eyes full of mirth and amusement when he, so easily, guessed the truth as if it was written on her forehead.

 _You can never be like Renly,_ she angrily declared to the wall she was facing, _and we can never be friends._

_Never._

To her relief, the sky outside began lighting up, the welcome glow of twilight bringing her overnight misery to an end. 

She got up and got dressed and headed out towards the gardens. An early morning walk was what she needed to clear her head, to prepare her for another day in the lair of the lions, only the second in the never-ending month to come, the worst punishment she’d been forced to endure.

She strolled around aimlessly, focusing on a bird or two chirping here and there and the greenery surrounding her, but nothing worked. Her betrothed’s keen eyes returned to haunt her mind’s eye and she stopped by a rose bush, distracted by thoughts of him and his voice ringing in her head.

“I can’t stand the sight of him,” she muttered to the nearest rosebud, “I--”

“It's rather unkind of you to say that, my lady!”

Startled, she jumped, the unexpected interruption to her morning peace and quiet, stunning the hell out of her. Her heart somewhere at her throat, she turned around slowly to face an annoying pair of green eyes that twinkled mischievously. “And here I was, thinking all along that I was handsome enough to charm any woman with a pulse.”

“I--I didn’t mean to--” she stuttered, mentally kicking herself for speaking her thoughts out aloud. 

He started to approach her, intense eyes on hers, sucking out her innermost thoughts. “Most maidens take it as a privilege when I shower them with my attention--”

“I’m not _most maidens_ ,” she retorted, pinched by the smug confidence in his tone. “Unlike those you’ve met, I have no interest in handsome knights following me around, trying to captivate me with useless small talk--”

“At least you agree I’m handsome,” he caught her unawares again, an effortlessly charming smile lighting up his eyes.

“You’re deviating from the point I’m trying to make,” she warded off his verbal blow, a weak attempt to cover up another lapse.

He came closer. “You said I’m handsome.” Something in his tone struck her deep, sending a shiver down her spine. “Admit it. You can’t just spill out words and walk away, unscathed.”

Ignoring his square jaw, the broad chest and what a striking presence he was even when not in his kingsguard armour, she looked him in the eye. “I have to return.” 

When she started to retreat, he blocked her way. “But you just arrived, wench.”

“Do not call me wench,” she almost shouted, the nerves in her temples throbbing under the strain of running into him. “Also, would you be kind enough not to tail me all over the castle?”

His forehead creased into a frown. “I wasn’t tailing you.”

“What brings you here then?” She couldn’t bring herself to believe him. Men like him didn’t think twice before lying. 

“My brother always comes here at dawn,” said a soft voice from behind them. “Every single morning. It’s _our_ usual routine.”

Whether it was the sudden appearance of the queen that left her unsettled, or her erroneous assumption that Jaime had come here after her, or Cersei’s thumping emphasis on _our,_ a blatant hint that Brienne was treading on unwelcome grounds, it didn’t matter. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. 

“Your grace,” she greeted her future sister-in-law, gathering herself into a clumsy attempt at a curtsey. She had met his twin only once, at supper last night, and had immediately become the recipient of her icy stares and mocking smirks.

“If I were you, I’d practice until I mastered a curtsey. I wouldn’t suppose you’ve ever paid much importance to how a noblewoman ought to carry herself, but a lady of an esteemed family such as ours is expected to be born with such poise and grace,” the queen advised her, disapproval and revulsion dripping off every word she uttered. The taunt stung Brienne, badly and deeply, but she chose not to reply, gulping down the insult out of respect for her father and the obligation he was under. “What brings _you_ here this early, Lady Brienne?” the queen went on, her eyes, poisoned spears, waiting to sink their venomous tips into her heart.

“I couldn’t sleep all night,” Brienne admitted, “so I thought I’d rather--”

“--lie in wait for my brother and ambush him with your company?” she suggested with brutality, her lips thinning in a mirthless smile. “In case no one has bothered to tell you yet, this part of the garden is restricted.” She exchanged a look with Jaime who, for reasons only brother and sister were aware of, didn’t look too pleased with the goings-on. “No one but family is allowed in here--”

“--and _she_ will soon be family,” said an authoritative voice, again, from behind them.

And for the third time that morning, Brienne braced herself for undesirable company and greeted her father-in-law, who, despite being just about as tall as her, towered over her and everyone else he was surrounded by.

“It pleases me to see you both bonding like this,” Lord Tywin complimented them with a patronising smile. “Now why don’t you escort Lady Brienne back to her chambers, Jaime, while I take a moment to have a private word with the queen.”

To be deprived of her brother’s company didn’t make Cersei happy, for she was shooting angry glares at her father, but Tywin Lannister was unfazed, standing his ground, hinting, once more, with a slight nod to Jaime that they vacate the place.

“My lady.” Jaime offered her his hand again, and this time too, Brienne was forced to accept for the sake of the company they were in.

As they walked away in silence, she couldn’t help ruminating over Cersei’s animosity towards her. Were the stories that the Kingslayer shared his bed with his sister true? Was that the reason for Lord Tywin’s desperation to get him married within a month? When they were a good distance away from father and daughter, she could, no longer, restrain it within her. “Why does the queen despise me? What have I done to displease her?” 

Jaime slowed down. “Why can’t you stand the sight of me, Brienne?” he asked her in the same perplexed vein. “What have I done to displease you?”

“You mocked Lord Renly,” she shot back, her chin starting to wobble at the recollection. “You deemed him unworthy of--”

“--your affection?” he supplied, a tinge of irritation in his tone. “He is. Trust me on that and stop wasting your time with him.”

She stopped, pulling him to a halt alongside her. “Don’t you go telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.”

Her reaction irked him further. “Why does it bother you so much that I think ill of Renly?” 

For her own good, she decided to evade the question. “I must go--”

“You love him,” Jaime concluded, terse and blunt. “That’s why it pricks you when I--”

It was time to cut this discussion before he could drag her into deeper waters. “Ser Jaime, I said, I must leave.”

“Leave then. What is stopping you?”

“You’re still holding my hand,” she cried, and just as she was about to wriggle off his grasp, he tightly gripped her fingers. “Let go--”

“You have a swordsman’s hands,” he said, gently caressing her palm. “You must be trained in combat.” Brienne felt the blood rushing up her neck. His touch should've left her with revulsion and seething with rage at his bold move, but oddly, she found herself finding it not so… _unwelcome_. 

And this feeling was so unfamiliar that it unnerved her.

Pulling away, she withdrew a couple of steps. “This is where we part company. I need no escort, Ser Jaime, I can find my way on my own.”

“But, Brienne,” he said, looking bewildered again, “I--”

Sleep-deprived and agitated, she had neither the will nor the strength to finish the conversation. “Do not keep trying to make my acquaintance, Ser Jaime,” she made herself clear, determined to let the month go by with the least possible interaction with him. “We will never be married. We can _never_ be friends. If you want me to spend the rest of my stay here in peace, I would urge you to stay away from me. _Please_. Keep off my path and never run into me again. I don't wish to see you ever again.”

Giving him no chance to reply, she bolted out of there, leaving him standing there and gaping at her.

Once back within the safety of the keep, Brienne spent the rest of the morning in a daze, confined to her room and her thoughts, dreading the idea of facing the family at lunch. Lord Tyrion’s company she enjoyed, and Lord Tywin, she could just about manage to tolerate, but the queen wasn’t someone she was looking forward to running into again.

Cersei didn’t show up at mealtime, nor did Jaime.

“Isn’t the queen joining us?” she asked Tyrion who was seated by her side.

If her question took him by surprise, he didn’t show it. “No, although I’m unsure why.”

At first, relief washed over her, but when she thought through it, an unpleasant doubt sneaked into her mind. “What about Ser Jaime?” _Is he with his sister,_ she almost went to the extent of asking, but held her tongue, not wanting to sound overly inquisitive or intrusive.

“He is busy with some kingsguard duties.”

She felt her chest lighten, the load, she didn’t know she had been carrying for a while, lifted away.

Tyrion set down his knife to give her his undivided attention. “Thank you, my lady,” he said, with the warmest smile she’d received since her arrival here.

Brienne was lost. “For what?”

“For coming into my brother’s life. Welcome to our family, Lady Brienne, and I hope you’re blessed with a life full of prosperity.”

So genuine his happiness was, that she had not the heart to stamp on it and tell him that the union he so eagerly awaited, was not to be. Returning his smile, she accepted his wishes with a bashful, “Thank you.”

“My brother may seem pompous and arrogant,” Tyrion went on, “but deep down, he has a heart of gold and an ocean-full of love for the one who would have him.”

 _Does he love his sister,_ she wanted to ask, to confirm what the world spread behind his back, but held herself again. She was their guest for a handful of weeks. How did it matter to her who Jaime loved?

“He can be sarcastic and has a dry sense of humour, at times,” Tyrion continued chanting praises of his brother, “but I’m sure he’ll make you happy. As much as anyone else can.”

Managing a smile, she nodded, recalling her bitter parting words to Jaime that morning. Whatever Tyrion said after that was drowned by a sudden feeling of guilt inside her.

 _He insulted Renly,_ she told herself in a bid to throw off the load that was beginning to weigh her down again. _I did the right thing._

Hours passed. Tea time came and went. Supper came and went. Yet there was no sign of Jaime. Tyrion, Lord Tywin and the children were her only companions on both the occasions, and when she inquired about Jaime’s whereabouts, she was treated to the same answer he had given her that afternoon.

As midnight drew closer, her discomfort grew. Had Jaime taken her words to heart? Was he avoiding her on purpose? Unable to sleep with this thought eating her, she got up for a drink of water. Perhaps that might help her relax, to get some rest at least tonight.

Even if he was keeping out of her way, how did it matter? In less than a month, he would be a nobody in her life, out of her sight, far away from her mind. That mollified her to an extent and she went back to bed. But no sooner did her head touch the pillow, than his face flashed in her mind. The look of shock he had in his eyes when she had walked away wouldn’t let her sleep a wink. 

Realizing there was only one way to lay this matter to rest, she got off her bed with a heavy sigh, and out of the room.

Never before had a walk been this tedious; never before had her mind been this restless, and never before had she felt so apprehensive. When she approached Jaime’s door, the only sound she could hear along the deserted passage was her heart slamming against her chest and her thoughts screaming in her head.

“It’s open,” he called, when she knocked.

Wiping her damp palm on her trouser leg, she turned the knob and opened the door to a crack. There he was at his desk, poring over what looked like an elaborate map.

She had barely stepped in, and he sprang to his feet with a surprised, “Oh, it’s you. I thought it was Cersei.”

_Right. His sister._

An urgent need to bolt off to safety took over, and she mumbled, “I can speak to you tomorrow if you’re busy--”

“I’m not busy anymore.” He rolled away the giant sheet of parchment and pushed it to a corner of the table. “Come in, Brienne, and close the door behind you.” 

She found her mind running around for words and her throat suddenly parched when he stood before her, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes drifting down her face and all over her as he waited for her to speak. While she wasn’t someone who usually made a fuss about her clothes, she squirmed under his gaze, wishing she’d worn something more appropriate instead of the loose nightshirt and trousers.

“Brienne?”

“You weren’t with us at lunch today,” she stated the obvious, spitting out the first thing that occurred to her.

Stifling a yawn, he let her question pass.

“And at dinner,” she aimlessly went on without pursuing the purpose of her visit.

“I was with Ser Barristen, planning out a few things since I won’t be a part of the guard for long,” he explained, stretching his arms and diverting her gaze to his broad chest. “My father has requested the king to relieve me of my duties, and he has very kindly agreed to do so by the end of this week.”

“For the sake of a marriage that’s never going to take place,” she mused, more to herself.

“What brings you here at this hour?” he asked, ignoring her remark. When she took a moment to frame the appropriate words in her head, he teased, “Did my absence bother you so much that you had to come seeking me out in the dead of the night, wench?”

She could feel her ears catch fire. “I told you not to call me wench.”

“You came by to inquire why I wasn’t with you all day, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t,” she replied, and incensed by the teasing lilt in his tone, she turned to go. “And now I must leave--”

“Pray wait, my lady.” Jaime came closer, his hand over her shoulder and resting on the door behind her, his eyes, unblinking. 

Her heart skipped a beat at his sudden movement, but she stayed back, leaning against the door, fingers curled over the knob, ready to flee if the conversation got out of hand. “Tell me,” he asked, more seriously this time. “How can I help you?”

“About this morning,” she began, licking her lips as if that would guide her to the right set of words. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.”

“Are you apologizing?”

“What else does it sound like?” she snapped, irked by his tone of disbelief. “I can leave right away if you feel--”

“Is that your solution to everything, my lady?” He sounded amused again. “Leaving a conversation mid-way? Running away from an argument?”

She didn’t answer, and for a while, neither of them said a word, but stared at each other. She tried, but couldn’t look away from the penetrating gaze that dared her to come up with a fitting reply. She wanted to get out of there, but her legs wouldn’t co-operate.

“Lady Brienne?”

“I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you this morning,” she apologized, deciding to put an end to the matter and get away from there.

Jaime accepted it with a smile. “Don’t worry, I took no offence to it.”

“So you haven’t been avoiding me on purpose?” she blurted out without thinking.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want me to _not_ avoid you?”

His words, the way he was looking at her and everything else about him drove her to her wit’s end. “It’s quite late, Ser Jaime. You must be tired and you need to be up on time for your early morning walk with your sister.”

He tried to intervene, “Brienne--”

“I must sleep now too,” she babbled on, lack of proper rest beginning to numb her senses. “If you would be kind enough to return to your bedchamber and allow me to retire for the night--”

“This is _my_ room, Brienne,” he reminded her, chuckling, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “However,” he added, dropping his tone to a whisper, “if you want to sleep in here tonight, I have no objection at all. By all means, make this your home--”

“Oh, please!” she cried, embarrassed and back to her full consciousness. “You know that wasn’t what I meant.”

He burst out laughing and she jerked his hand off the door, making room for herself to leave. Working the knob open, she stepped out, not wanting to linger any longer and stumble into further trouble.

“One thing, though,” he called out after her when his mirth had subsided. “I don’t go out for walks with Cersei. I never have. Nor am I going to, tomorrow.”

Her mouth nearly fell open at his confession and she had to pause to stare at him, to wait for him to explain.

“That was just something she made up this morning.” He shrugged and pondered for a second. “Probably to intimidate you.”

“Right.” She nodded, making her way down the passage, still reeling under the flurry of emotions brewing within her.

“And Brienne?”

She stopped again, wondering what he might hit her with this time.

“You don’t look too well,” he said, his tone and his gaze, both bearing a warmth she hadn’t felt around him before. “Make sure you sleep properly tonight.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first "date"

Waiting for someone could be a pain in the arse, particularly when there was an uncertainty involved in how the meeting might unfold.

Jaime happened to uncover this uncomfortable truth only after he had circled the stables about ten times, glancing more often than necessary along the path leading to it. He hated to admit it, but nothing, not even the deadliest weapons he’d faced and the mightiest warriors he’d fought, had affected him as much as the prospect of spending an evening alone with her. Not helping his anxiety was the fact that he had very little to do off late. The week had come to a close, and King Robert had kept his word. No longer a part of the Kingsguard, time was now a freely available resource, a lot of which he spent contemplating his impending _wedding_ in the days to come, or rather, how to wriggle out of it.

But everytime he sat down to devise means to thwart his father’s plans, his mind inadvertently jumped to the wench, lingering on her for hours that followed. Which was why, when his father had insisted on him spending some time away from the keep with her, he agreed. 

He was beginning to look forward to every new day in her company.

It had begun the night she had shown up at his door, hesitant and stuttering and reluctantly apologetic, her sudden presence leaving him completely nonplussed and pleasantly surprised and sleepless for the rest of the night. Then onwards, things had changed for the better, though not drastically. While he couldn’t yet call her a friend, Brienne was now a lot less colder and considerably receptive to his company. There were some lines she fiercely guarded; boundaries he couldn’t cross. But the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to get her out of the invisible shell she hid herself in, her eyes, going from friendly to evasive whenever he made an attempt to find out more about her childhood or wheedle out of her what she exactly felt for Renly.

Yes, it was quite evident that she wanted to devote her life to serving as a glorified bodyguard to a man unworthy of her attention, and that irked him so much that whenever the subject came up, they would end up squabbling like a pair of young squires.

But whenever he dragged her into discussions about swordplay or combat, her eyes would light up and she’d open up to him like a blossoming flower, speaking eloquently about the training she’d received and how, one day, she would wish to rise to the level of the renowned knights the country boasted of.

The wall guarding her was a tough nut to crack, but he hoped to get in someday. A friend like her was something he’d cherish and remember forever; even if her presence in his life would last no more than a moon or two. 

“Ser Jaime.”

He wheeled around. Captivated, as always, by the beauty of her eyes, he stood there, bewitched. They were precious jewels - sapphires, to be precise, bright enough to banish the darkness within him if he gazed long enough into them. Far from Cersei’s, which, though beautiful, were icy and distant, even to him, at times, Brienne’s were the warmth of a fire on a cold winter night, leaving him with a comforting sensation one usually felt when they helped themselves to a sip of the best wine to ease the chill within them. 

“Ser Jaime?” she called again, this time slightly louder.

Embarrassed, he returned to the realm of reality. “Lady Brienne.” 

Like him, she too had arrived in disguise, a long cloak covering her from head to foot, concealing her identity. The sun was fading fast, bathing them in its lovely pinkish glow. “How do you find the sunset in King’s Landing?” he asked when they were out of the gates and on the street leading into the city.

She shrugged. “Same as everywhere else.”

“Right,” he muttered, wanting to kick himself. “That was a stupid question.”

She turned to him, but it was only a short glance, barely enough to catch another glimpse of her expressive eyes, let alone read what they beheld. Whether she was impressed or annoyed, he couldn’t say. Pissed off, most likely, for she would have smiled if it was otherwise. Nothing he said could coax her into anything more than a thoughtful expression or a flustered flutter of her long lashes.

_What will it take to make her smile?_

“Why are you always this serious, wench?” he couldn’t resist asking.

He expected the usual _don’t call me wench,_ but she seemed to have overlooked it when she parried his attack with a well-matched, “Why do you always have to talk this much, Ser Jaime?”

“One of us has to do the talking,” he defended himself, “else we’re going to end up with a dull evening with long periods of excruciatingly painful silence.”

As always, she refused to put up with whatever disagreed with her. “Silence is golden, at times.”

“Only when you’re a poor, helpless squire forced to listen to your knight killing you with long-winding stories of his exploits.” He chuckled when she clicked her tongue. “When you’re with your betrothed, sneaking out of the household to snatch a few hours of quality time with her--”

He stopped talking when she punished him with a scathing look. “We may be betrothed, ser, but I am not--”

“I know,” he acknowledged, her reminder calling out his lack of action towards his promise to do something to call off their union. “I was only joking.”

This last exchange dragged him down an ocean of silence, the burden of his dilemma heavier than in the past days. On the one hand, he wanted to rebel against his father’s decision and relieve her of this imprisonment, but on the other, he couldn’t bring himself to act for fear of Cersei's and his children's safety. If a shrewd man like his father was intimidated by the subtle threat of a frail old woman, it had to mean something. He had to tread carefully. He couldn’t afford to be selfish.

 _But what about Brienne’s safety,_ pointed out a small voice inside him, drawing his attention to the way Cersei had been treating his future wife. Her icy looks, her critical remarks, her blatant lie that morning that uncovered a concealed threat - _stay away from my brother…_

“What are we going to do here?”

Her question brought to his notice that they had ridden deep into the market. It was nearly closing time with the roadside hawkers in the process of shutting shop. “You could buy some clothes,” he hopefully suggested, struck by the idea of gifting her something.

“I have enough to last me a good number of months,” she politely, but firmly refused. When she tugged at the reins, her oversized sleeve got in the way. “Why the hell did you insist on us coming here in disguise?” she grumbled. “This cloak is a terrible fit.”

Jaime’s mind drifted off to thoughts of Cersei conspiring against their evening. “I wanted to avoid unnecessary attention.”

“How does it matter if anyone sees us together? We are to be married in just three weeks--”

“Do you _want_ to be married in three weeks, Brienne?” he asked, his words slipping out of his control.

“No,” she shot back immediately, flustered, her freckles acquiring a pleasant rosy tint. “I mean, I was just saying--”

“Have you grown to like me?” he teased, thoroughly enjoying the deepening colour on her cheeks.

Shocked, she stared at him for a second before saying, “I would never--”

“Why?” he asked, her thumping denial mildly unsettling him. “Am I that bad a match for you?”

“That’s not what I meant, Ser Jaime.”

“What exactly did you mean then, Lady Brienne?”

She blinked profusely. “I--”

“Watch where you’re going, lads!” an old woman shrieked, when Brienne very nearly knocked her down. 

She had mistaken the wench for a man, which meant their disguise was effective. Muttering a red-faced apology, Brienne steered around the horde of people and put as much distance as she could between herself and Jaime.

“You were saying something, my lady?” Jaime called out, when they had made it across the human sea and into some empty space where they could breathe again.

“I need no clothes nor anything else,” she said, retreating into her usual shell again. “Might we just get out of here?”

“Shall we pay a visit to Tobho Mott’s?” he suggested, not wanting to push too much and end up upsetting her. “I’d like to gift you something, an armour, maybe--”

“Why would you want to do that?” she wanted to know, her eyes, oceans of doubt.

“Because--” he scratched his head for a reason he hadn’t yet thought of yet “--you’re my guest. I want you to have something to remember me when you’re gone.”

The frown eased away and a faint trace of a smile appeared on her face. “I won’t have any trouble remembering you, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime came to an abrupt halt. “Really? Why might that be?”

Again, she stuttered uncomfortably and tried to put him off with a feeble, “I was trying to say that--” She broke away, looking in the opposite direction.

“What?” 

He waited. He had to hear the rest of that, but she turned back to him and replied, “Nothing.”

“Have you grown to care for me, Brienne?” he started to tease again, hoping that might pull an answer out of her. “Have you been thinking about me night and day? Have you--” he took a pause to look into her eyes “--reconsidered your stand about this wedding?”

“You misunderstand if you assume that,” she said, firm and clear.

But Jaime was in no mood to let go of her easily. “Tell me the truth if you don’t want me to assume anything.”

“The truth is that you’re infuriating, annoying--” she paused to breathe, and perhaps, come up with a few other things she could say to him “--thinking you could work your way into any woman’s heart.”

“Oh, you mean none of that!” he brushed her accusations away, taking note of the lack of conviction in them.

“I mean every word of that!” she asserted, her voice, high pitched.

“You smiled,” Jaime recalled, “when you confessed you’d never forget me. You _never_ smile.”

Leaving behind no answer, but a glare that was sharp enough to shred him to pieces, she picked up the reins again and galloped away. 

Laughing, he followed. There was a certain innocence about her, something irresistibly alluring that was sorely missing in Cersei, and a softness too, though deep down, it seemed to be hidden. But to get her to thaw didn’t seem that impossible anymore.

After wandering around for a while, they settled down to supper at an inn, where again, they were left unrecognized and to themselves.

“Why are you this averse to a domestic life?” he asked, taking another bite of the meat.

She put down her knife with a pensive look in her eyes. “I’m not averse to it.”

“Why do you shun the very idea of marriage then?”

“I heard you were to wed Lady Margaery,” she inquired in return, ignoring his question. “What made you resort to someone like me when you could’ve had any woman you wanted?”

So she knew. At least a part of what had come of his father’s trip to Highgarden. “It didn’t work out,” he honestly admitted. “Lady Olenna was of the firm opinion that an oathbreaker like me didn’t deserve the hand of her daughter.”

She gave him a dry laugh, followed by a sarcastic, “I’m not your first choice after all.”

“You weren’t my choice at all,” he rattled off, before he could check himself.

“Of course,” she said, nodding vigorously. “Women across the country throw themselves at your feet, don’t they? So why would you, the handsome Ser Jaime Lannister, settle for an ugly wench--”

“That’s going a bit too far, Brienne,” he jumped in to correct her perception of him, “Not once did I call you _ugly_ or anything else remotely similar _._ ”

Pushing aside her wine cup, she got up. “You didn’t say it in as many words, but you’ve been relentlessly calling me wench--”

“I was just teasing you,” he hurried to pacify her, observing her emotions going out of hand. “I meant to say that I am not inclined towards marriage at all, be it to you or any other woman. I know you don’t trust me enough, but believe me.”

Mollified, she went back to her meal, and by the time they had finished and left the inn, it was dark, quite late, which meant they would only be able to make it to the keep long after the world had fallen asleep. Their bellies full of food and wine, they took to their return journey in silence, moving on at a pace slower than usual.

“We’ve got to be a bit careful here,” Jaime warned, just as they had entered a deserted stretch of the road, wishing they had left sooner. To be there after dark meant asking for trouble, for around this part of the city, thrived the scum of King’s Landing - petty thieves, rapers, murderers and every other kind of filth he could think of. “We don’t know what we might stumble into,” he thought aloud, running a hand over the hilt of his weapon, ready, just in case...

He saw the wench shuffle around and reach beneath her cloak. “I haven’t got my sword,” she whispered in panic. “In my nervousness before I set out, I must have forgotten--”

He let the bigger concern be for a moment. “I make you nervous?” 

“Why do you always fail to see my point?” she scolded, exasperated. “If we run into trouble, I can’t--”

She fell silent when they heard the sound of hooves, not too far away, unfortunately. “We must hurry, come on--”

But before they could get away, about four or five horsemen surrounded them, brandishing swords and daggers and leering at her.

“What do you want?” Jaime demanded. He didn’t want to start a brawl when they were so clearly outnumbered. And drunk. And partly unarmed. “If it is gold, let us go and I’m sure it can be arranged--”

“Her,” one of the men hissed, throwing Brienne a lecherous look. “We want her.”

“I’m Ser Jaime Lannister,” he decided to throw around the weight of his authority, hoping that might scare them into leaving them alone, “and this is my wife-to-be that you’re talking about--”

“Why should I believe you?” another one with a huge scar on his forehead shouted, as they continued circling them threateningly. “I’ve never seen the Kingslayer--”

“Then you’re probably new to the city,” Jaime said, trying to intimidate him into a surrender. “If you attack us, you’ll be executed--”

But before he could finish, a big man, the size of the Hound, charged at her and stuck his knife into her thigh. With a loud growl, she leapt off her horse and dragged her assailant to his feet. By the time Jaime could get off his horse and pull out his sword, she was already locked in a tight embrace with her assailant, each trying to wrestle the other to the dirt.

All hell broke loose after that. Screams pierced the silence of the night.

His senses, though numbed by the copious amount of wine he’d consumed, Jaime managed to stab one of them in the heart and behead another, but before he could take in a gulp of air to clear his head, he was surrounded again, scarface to his left, another to his right. 

Turning to take on the one on his right first, he aimed at his chest, but missed, and taking advantage of his lapse, his adversary struck him hard in his arm. Jaime staggered, losing focus for a second, and brought his hand to the wound. _Not too bad,_ he reassured himself, gathering his wits and went for his attacker again, his aim, this time, not failing its intent.

_Two more to go._

But Scarface, who had come for him earlier, only to later abandon him for the wench, now lay dead by her side with his head split open and a bloody boulder lying next to him. _Pretty impressive_ , Jaime couldn't help complimenting, _for a woman with no weapons._

_One more to go._

The Hound look-alike, rolling on the ground with Brienne wrapped around him in an embrace of death was the last man left, his knife lying by his side, within an arm’s reach. Only one thought ruled Jaime’s mind. The wench was in danger. Unarmed, she was no match for him. He had to save her. If he failed, she’d be raped. Or murdered. Or both.

Her opponent was bigger that her, and with all the strength he could gather, Jaime shouted, “Get the fuck off her,” and dragging him off her, he forced him to his feet. Just when he was about to take aim, the stranger overtook him, pushing another knife he'd had concealed in his clothes, into Jaime's chest.

Blinded by the pain, Jaime recoiled, but managed to keep his balance. 

Brienne attacked from the other side, but the man shoved her away and charged at Jaime again, this time, going for his heart, but Jaime was quicker this time, and the next moment, the man was on the ground in a pool of blood.

Breathing heavily, he clung to his horse for support, when Brienne cried, “Gods, you’re hurt!” her horror-struck eyes shifting from his arm to the tear in his chest. 

He brushed a finger to the cut beneath his collarbone. It didn’t feel deep though the pain was hell. “I’ll live.”

“Can you ride?” she anxiously asked, clutching his arm. “If you can’t, I can go get help--”

“You’re not going anywhere alone,” he roared, before she could do something stupid. They couldn’t afford to stay here even a second longer. He wanted to get out of here before they could run into any more of them. 

“Oww,” he yelped, losing his balance when he tried to mount his beast, only now remembering that he was struck in the thigh as well.

“Take my hand,” she offered, and holding him steady, she helped him up.

Riding with three injuries oozing blood was excruciatingly painful, but thankfully, they weren’t too far away from the keep, and before long, they had made it.

“Can you walk?” she asked, carefully easing him off the horse.

“Of course, I can. It’s just a scratch.” But when he tried to rest his weight on his injured leg, he stumbled, groaning in pain.

Brienne caught him before he could fall. “Come on,” she murmured, draping his arm around her shoulders. Supporting his waist with her other arm, she guided him up the stairs and to his chambers.

“I’ll go and fetch Grand Maester Pycelle,” she said, pushing the door open and leading him inside.

“No need,” he decided. “Everyone must be asleep by now. I have some tincture left from last time. Once I clean up the wounds and apply it, I’ll be fine.”

She still had him in her arms, so close that he could feel her breath down his neck when she doubtfully asked, “How will you manage?”

Deep down, his groin could feel the effect of the gentle press of her body against his. “I will.”

But blue eyes refused to leave his, and she held on to him, her hand slowly sliding up his chest. “You took this for me,” she said hoarsely, her fingertip tracing the tear in his clothes. “You saved me. You could’ve died.”

“I don’t regret it,” he whispered, the wine in his blood, the power of her gaze and the intensity of her touch stirring up tremors within him, sensations he had, until now, felt for none but Cersei. “And it’s quite late for you too. Go and sleep, Brienne. Once I've taken care of my cuts, I’ll be fine by morning.”

Her moist eyes caressed his, awakening in him, _something_ \-- something he couldn’t put his finger on. “You can’t do it by yourself,” she said, gently pushing him onto the bed. “I’m staying.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TLC :)

Brienne reached for the laces of his shirt. “Now let’s quickly get you out of these clothes--”

Before she could finish, Jaime sat upright, and she immediately withdrew her hand, his unexpected move driving her to silence. “If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was _ask_ , wench,” he whispered, tilting his face to hers, his urge to tease her stronger under the influence of his intoxication. “I would’ve gladly complied.”

A shadow crept over those blue eyes, eclipsing their brilliance, and she shrunk away, hiding them from him, sounding odd when she replied, “If this is all just a joke to you, I might as well get back to my room and send someone else to tend to you, ser.”

Upset, she got up to leave, but he caught her hand before she could get away. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling guilty that he had trivialised her worry and earnestness to comfort him with a cheap remark. “Stay,” he implored, telling those eyes, when she turned them back on him, that he meant it from the bottom of his heart. “ _Please?_ ”

Satisfied with his apology, she set about undressing him, working on layer after layer, peeling them off, uncovering his skin. Jaime watched her nimble fingers expertly going about the task, and before he could seize control of his wandering mind, he was left tormented with images of their wedding night, of what it might have turned out to be, had this been an actual alliance that culminated in a real marriage. Instead of purging his head free of the inappropriate thoughts that stood ready to invade it, he closed his eyes to welcome them and surrender to their presence, to feel her soft skin burning under his touch, sore and red, covered by marks his stubble would leave all over.

To return his wavering mind to thoughts of Cersei and the nights he had spent in her bed would’ve been the right thing to do. Instead, he let himself linger in the realm that, though foreign, was deliciously exciting, the press of his body on Brienne's more real than the intimacy he’d had with his sister, the twirl of his tongue against hers, wilder than the most sensuous kiss he’d shared with his sister. Sex, all his life, had meant just one name, one woman, but the visions of Brienne’s naked form, writhing and squirming under him, left his cock hard and desperate, his heartbeat picking up a dangerous pace when he pictured those long fingers around his shaft, those full lips teasing his tip, her delicious tongue licking down his-- 

“Ser Jaime?”

“Huh?” Blank, he stared at her bemused face, still trying to shake himself off the intensity of those thoughts and how real they felt! 

“Did you just doze off?” she asked, irritated by his slip in attention. “I’ve been talking to you for quite some time.”

_Was it even my fault that I wasn’t listening to a word of it?_

Relieved that he could finally clear his head enough to pick up a normal conversation with her, he managed a, “Um--yes, I might have,” masking what he had just been through with a lie. “The wine and the weakness after the fight, I suppose,” he built up on it, rubbing his temples wearily.

Her eyes flicked down his neck and to the patch of blood on his chest. “I need a cloth. And where do I look for that tincture--”

“You’ll find everything you need in there,” he answered, pointing to a shelf propped up against the opposite wall.

He sat back as she deftly began cleaning the wound below his collarbone with a damp cloth, her free hand holding his arm for support. Delicate and tender, she went about wiping the dried blood away, her fingers, soft and careful as a mother’s when tending to her baby. _Gentler than Cersei,_ he couldn’t help comparing, as she picked up another cloth to dry away the dampness.

“I was such an idiot to have left my sword behind,” she said regretfully, moving on to the injury on his arm when she had done and dressed the cut on his chest.

“It’s not your fault. People don’t usually arm themselves when they go out for dinner,” he consoled her. “Ultimately what matters is that they’re dead and we’ve survived. Try not to dwell too much on whatever happened.”

She dropped her gaze to his chest, her fingers tightening around his arm. Seconds went by. Her chest rising and falling in unsteady breaths, he could feel her hand shivering over his. “Brienne?” 

She stepped up the pressure of her touch so much that the tip of her nail pressed into his cut. “Sorry,” she mumbled, when he winced, her voice subdued and choked, as if she had a terrible cold. “I’m sorry--”

“Brienne,” he said again, softer this time, and covered her hand with his. “It’s alright. It’s over. It was nothing--”

“It was far from _nothing_.” Those eyes were back on his, burning him to a cinder when she pointed out again, “You could’ve died!”

“Then I would have died protecting an innocent,” he replied, recalling the vows he had taken what felt like ages ago. “There is honour in such a death.”

She blinked, but just once this time, and he felt her fingers twitch under his, her naked vulnerability making him want to stay like this all night, to talk to her and soothe her worries away. “There is honour in _you_ ,” she told him, her words, the drastic opposite of what the world thought of him.

“You know nothing about me,” he murmured, the trust in her eyes unable to bear, the compassion in her touch making him feel undeserving of it.

“I know what the world thinks of you.”

“Kingslayer,” he bitterly reminded her, “that’s what I am. A man without honour. An oathbreaker--”

“--who just happened to single-handedly slay four men who threatened the life of a woman he barely knows,” she summarised, her voice fond and melodious, her smile, a welcome ray of sunlight on a murky rainy day. “What better justice could he do to the oath he had taken when knighted?”

“I killed the king I was supposed to protect,” he quietly reminisced, rudely flung back to memories of that fateful day and what followed, of how his life and reputation were altered after that. 

_Burn them all..._

It came back to him, loud and clear, the fire in the mad king’s eyes as viciously destructive as the wildfire he’d concealed beneath the city. “I begged him to surrender when my father sacked the city,” he began narrating, not waiting for her consent nor her reaction. “I told him he had no other way out--” he faltered, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions.

“Go on,” she encouraged.

Her eyes breaking down his restraints, he began to tell her everything, about Robert’s Rebellion, about how King Aerys had demanded his father’s head. Driven by an inexplicable need to share his burden with someone, he went on to spill out the secret he’d kept to his chest all these years, describing how the king had devised the cruelest possible way to burn down the city and along with it, it’s half a million population of innocent men, women and children.

“Burn them all, he kept repeating,” Jaime revealed, the venom in the commanding voice haunting him in nightmares even today. “Burn them in their houses. Burn them in their beds--” he broke away again, and when she gave his arm a gentle press, he took a deep breath and went on, “If your king commanded you to murder your father, would you have done it? You have more honour than the most honourable knights who walk this country, Brienne. Would you have stood by and watched while he murdered thousands of innocents?”

Her eyes were her answer; they urged him to continue and finish his terrible tale.

“I stabbed him in the back,” he told her, recalling how he’d been labelled a coward and a traitor for something that should’ve been celebrated for the horrors it had saved the city from. “And then I slit his throat for good measure.”

“Why didn’t you tell Lord Stark the truth?” she asked, when he looked at her expectantly, seeking not just her reaction, but her opinion of the most heinous murder he had committed.

With a dry laugh, he told her how the honourable Lord Eddard Stark had judged him guilty the moment he’d set eyes on him. “By what right does the wolf judge the lion?” he cried. “By what right--” The strain of those memories along with his physical pain too much to bear, he jerked away from her and slumped back into the pillows. Closing his eyes, he wished away the unpleasantness, hoping the wench would understand.

He opened his eyes when her hand was back on his, holding him in quiet reassurance, wordlessly telling him that she believed him.

“The rumors about me,” he started again, bringing up the second sensitive matter he felt the need to share with her, “about Cersei and me… everything they say… it’s all true,” he confessed. “Every word. Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen, they’re all--”

“None of anything you told me makes your act of protecting me any less honourable,” she made her point, gently, but firmly. “You kept me safe by putting yourself into trouble. That’s all that matters to me.”

“You despised me--”

“I don’t, anymore,” she jumped up in a hurry to correct his assumption.

The look in her eyes was good enough to cast away his agitation. “Really, my lady?” He decided to take this as an opportunity to tease her, just to watch her colour in response to him. “Just this evening you spared no words in telling me that I’m annoying, infuriating--”

“I didn’t mean any of that,” she sheepishly replied, doing him the favour of blushing adorably.

“But you said you did,” he pointed out, amused by the way she was trying to cover up.

“I--” she started, then springing back to a state of composure and her usual guarded self, she said, “I’m done with your arm and chest,” her tone, crisp and business-like. “Now for the cut on your leg--”

“I can manage that, Brienne,” he politely refused, dreading the thought of pulling down his breeches in front of her and the effect it could have on his vulnerable and inebriated state.

She narrowed her gaze in doubt. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” What he wasn’t sure of, was his reaction, his body’s, to be precise, if she decided to attend to his thigh.

Taking her hands off him, she got up. “Then I must return to my chambers.”

He nodded. “Goodnight, my lady.” Just as she was about to step out, he added, “And I really appreciate what you did for me.”

“It was nothing,” she said, waving off his gratitude, which she’d presumably assumed, was for taking care of his wounds. “Anyone in my place would’ve done the same.”

“Listening to me, I meant,” he clarified. “Hearing my side. I’ve never confided in anyone else before. No one else knows whatever I just told you.”

She flicked her tongue over her lips, fumbling with the doorknob when she said, “I must thank you for trusting me enough to confide in me, Ser Jaime.”

After one last look at him, she was gone, leaving him alone and lying on the bed, sleepless for a while. A strange mix of emotions began to seep into him - terrible memories from his youth, the caressing gaze of Brienne’s beautiful eyes, the tender, yet scorching touch of her skin on his.

 _It is more than just trust,_ he realized, his eyes shutting of their own accord as he began drifting off to another world when the milk of the poppy she’d fed him eventually took control of his senses.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Brienne opened her eyes, welcomed by the early rays of the sun, her head throbbing under the aftermath of the alcohol she’d consumed, and a stiff and painful back. 

It took a few seconds for sleep to be gone completely, bringing her back to full senses and drawing her attention to the man beside her, fast asleep and still gloriously naked above the waist. Tearing her gaze off his chest, she stretched her arms and tried to straighten her back, but pain, probably from the injuries she had incurred last night, restricted her movements, and all she could do was curse under her breath and lean back against the heap of pillows behind her.

Moments after she had retired to her bed last night, panic gripped her, binding her so tightly that it was stifling, crippling her peace of mind. Her mind had wandered off to Jaime, refusing to leave her alone. What if he needed assistance during the night? He could summon his men, of course, but the thought that he was alone and injured kept eating into her and she couldn’t sleep. When she could take it no more, she quietly tiptoed out of her room, deciding to spend the rest of the night, sitting by his side. 

Little did she know then, that her reluctance to take the vacant half of his bed and surrender to sleep would prove costly.

Last night, in her anxiety to make sure he was comfortable, she had forgotten that she too had suffered at the hands of their assailants. A cut here and a swelling there, it was, nothing too serious or as bad as Jaime’s, but it hurt now, and hurt her in places she couldn’t reach. Biting back a groan for fear of waking him up, she tried to get up, deciding it was time to assess the damage and remedy it, but as soon as she relinquished the support of the bed, a sharp pain beneath her hips reminded her of the cut her attacker had gifted her. 

Gritting her teeth and bearing the pain, she finally made it, and when she was some distance away from the bed, she began to undo the laces on her chest. She was about to take her shirt off, but when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Jaime stir in his sleep, she froze, hesitating for a second. 

When he turned to the other side and went back to sleep, she peeled the shirt away with a huge sigh of relief, confident he wouldn’t rise anytime soon.

Glancing down at herself, she began counting - a scratch just under her left breast, an angry blue-black patch on her waist, a cut on her thigh - the one that was hindering her walk, and something else, something between her shoulder blades and running along her spine. It seemed to be the only injury she couldn’t see, and she decided to move to the mirror in the hope of catching a glimpse of it.

But before she could budge, a firm hand was on her shoulder and another on her arm, holding her in place.

Common sense yelled at her to push him away, to grab her shirt and put it on, to run back to her room as fast as her legs could carry her, but a fleeting stroke of coherence, it was, because as soon as his hand slid across her shoulder, her brain refused to function, her limbs refused to obey her, her senses attuned to just one thing - his closeness, his touch, his burning breath on her skin.

“Ser Jaime,” were the only weak words she could utter, her knees feeling so brittle that she was worried they might crumble under her weight.

“I’m sorry, Brienne,” he breathed, sending a shiver down her back when he traced a finger along the smarting patch down her spine. “It never occured to me last night that you might be injured too.”

“It’s nothing--” _but a few petty scratches and scrapes,_ she wanted to say, following his evasive tactic from last night, but her words began scurrying away, abandoning her. The only thing giving her company was her rapidly diminishing courage, and alongside it, her growing attraction for him which was now beginning to threaten her with a mind of its own. 

“Allow me,” he said, in the gentlest tone he’d ever employed with her, then went on to cover her cut or scratch or whatever it was with the liquid she had used on him last night. The tincture was supposed to soothe her sore skin and ease away the burning, which it did, but the treatment brought along with it, the side-effect of his skin on hers, his touch rousing her, bringing parts of her to life - _parts_ , the thoughts of which, left her blushing furiously.

“You don’t have to--” she tried to protest, but he beat down the rest of it by firmly gripping her arm, a message, loud and clear, that if she could take care of him, so would he.

Never before had she stood like this before a man, naked and vulnerable and open. But Jaime wasn’t like other men. He wasn’t like the ones who had made her life miserable. He wasn’t Red Ronnet. He wasn’t the old man she had beaten in combat. He wasn’t--

“Feeling better?” His soothing voice should’ve been a balm, but the effect it had on her clouded mind was quite the opposite.

She nodded, not bothering to attempt words again.

She let out an involuntary shudder when his fingers glided downwards, the world around her reducing to a blur when his hand came to rest where her trousers began. And when he moved his fingers around the affected patch across her hips, subjecting it to the torture of gently rhythmic circles, she had to fight hard to breathe. He tried to ease away her pain, and she had to bite her tongue to suppress the wave of sensations exploding within her. He kept going on and on, and she had to grab the wall for support for fear of crashing to the floor, should her knees betray her. 

She had to try, and try harder than she was doing, to push him out of her consciousness, to cast away the forbidden, yet exhilarating thoughts that knocked her mind’s door, itching to get inside and spread their wings all over. 

_I’m in love with Renly,_ she reminded herself, hoping that would mitigate the effect of his touch. _He belongs to Cersei. This marriage is never going to take place. I will soon be out of his sight and… out of his mind._

The shift of his hands to her shoulders told her that he was done. “You took a knife to your leg--”

“I can take care of that,” she said in a hurry before he could make further suggestions, a sense of desperate urgency kicking into her. 

Before anyone could come knock, she had to get away, but when she reached out to the chair to pick up her shirt, he stopped her with a squeeze to her shoulder blades. “You returned to your chambers last night,” he asked, his fingers kissing the back of her neck. “Why did you come back to me?”

He was now closer than before. She could sense it. She could feel it, every nerve tingling, screaming, shouting out his name. “I have to go, Ser Jaime.” 

He stood where he was, his hands unmoved.

“People might come looking for you,” she voiced her fear. “Someone might see me here--”

“How does it matter if anyone sees us together?” he echoed what she’d blurted out earlier. “We are to be married in just three weeks.”

Grabbing her shirt, she turned around in indignation, pressing the crumpled piece of clothing to her bosom. “If you’re mocking me--”

“I’m not,” he said, meeting her eyes, and she knew he meant it. Then he withdrew to his bed again leaving the air around her a lot colder than it was.

Forcing her mind to ignore his presence, she slid the shirt on and straightened her pants. 

“I’ll have the maester come and take a look at you.” 

With those parting words, she slipped out of the room, but before she could get away, she found herself facing the towering presence of Tywin Lannister.

“Lady Brienne,” he softly greeted her, his hawk-like eyes digging into hers, freezing her limbs to the spot. “Never thought I’d run into you _here_ , this early in the morning.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin interferes. Jaime takes a decision. Brienne takes her own decision.

Was that his father outside the door?

Trying not to think of the possible consequences, Jaime staggered to his feet and looked around for something to wear - something that wasn’t a bathrobe and wide open at the chest.

“Come on in, my lady,” he heard his father command, and before he could rush across to his shelf and grab a set of clothes, the damage was already done. In came his father, followed closely by with a severely embarrassed and blushing Brienne.

“I came to hear about your exploits out in the city,” his father said, closing the door. “Foolish of you to have ventured out without a guard or two to watch your necks.”

“I was quite sure I could manage--”

“Over-confident is the right word,” scolded his father.

Jaime stood before him like a lad guilty of wrongdoing, no excuses coming to his mind, which was preoccupied with finding at least one to explain the wench’s seemingly inappropriate visit to his bedchambers.

Tywin’s eyes trailed down to the bandaged patch on his chest. “Are you badly hurt?” he asked, scanning the rest of Jaime’s body for visible signs of damage.

Jaime dismissed him with a vague, “I’ll live.”

His father stepped closer, and in a fit of uncharacteristic tenderness, placed his hand on Jaime’s cheek. “Glad you’re back in one piece.” He shifted his interrogative gaze to Brienne. “And you, my lady.”

“All thanks to Ser Jaime,” Brienne gushed, her eyes lighting up with warmth. “If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been murdered, or worse still--” With a deep breath, she left the rest unsaid, and he could almost feel her shiver at the thought.

His father was examining her like an overly large bird of prey, taking in her pink cheeks and tousled hair which she had forgotten to smoothen. “You still haven’t answered my question, Lady Brienne. What could possibly have brought you to my son’s chambers at this hour?”

“She was here to help me treat my wounds,” Jaime answered on her behalf, not wanting to put Brienne through his father’s painful scrutiny.

Years of living with his father told Jaime that he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Why not summon Pycelle? He doesn’t do a bad job.”

“Because we returned quite late last night. Everyone would’ve been asleep by then,” Jaime explained.

“Hmm.” Tywin turned to Brienne again. “You may leave now, my lady. I’m sure you might have other things to attend to, though not as important as my son.”

She flushed a deep crimson, and there was no need to tell her twice. Glad to be handed the chance to escape, she dashed out of there, and Jaime was sure he heard a soft whimper as she pulled the door shut behind her, one hand on her hurt thigh as she disappeared out of sight.

“Sooo,” his father dragged on, unleashing the full effect of his presence on Jaime, his tone effective enough to convey that this wasn’t going to be easy. “She spent the night here.”

“Yes,” Jaime replied, then immediately went on to add, “No. I mean, yes and no.”

Tywin frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Yes, she was here last night. And no, it isn’t what you think it is,” Jaime explained, his patience thinning. “She just came to tend to my wounds.”

“Hmm.” Tywin made his way to the bed. Straightening the sheets, he sat down and began staring at the bedspread.

Unsure of what to expect, Jaime was slightly unnerved. “Is there anything I can help you with, father?”

“Oh, no no. I just came to check on you when I heard--”

“I’m fine,” Jaime cut him short, hoping he wouldn’t probe further about Brienne’s presence in his room. 

Tywin went very stiff, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. “We have to make sure this is investigated, and whoever was behind this, must be suitably dealt with.”

Jaime perched beside him, pondering the purpose behind the ambush. “Petty rogues, I suppose, they were,” he guessed, “or rapists, probably--”

“How did they know where to find you?” His father’s shrewd mind got to work, racing quicker than any other. “They knew what they were looking for, Jaime, which means--”

“Are you suggesting that this was a premeditated attack?” Last night, weary and drunk, the thought had not occurred to him, but when he revisited the scene in his head, the assumption made sense.

“Definitely looks like it,” Tywin echoed, getting up, “And I’m not going to rest until I find out who was behind this.”

Jaime acknowledged with a nod.

Tywin made his way to the door and before he could leave, he turned to talk to him again. “Did you bed her last night?”

“No!” Jaime hotly denied. To get drunk and defile the honour of a woman was unthinkable. “I already told you--”

“Very well, I believe you.” But he was smirking and that was not a good sign, not particularly when the matter involved his marriage. “The next time you seek her _company_ , son, make sure you keep it discreet,” he slyly advised. “Not obvious enough to be detected by the Kingsguard who might happen to notice her sneak into your chambers in the middle of the night.”

Angered that poor Brienne’s virtues were being questioned, Jaime jumped to her rescue, “I don’t intend to--”

“I do admit, I was the one who wanted you to _bond_. I just didn’t mean it literally.” The smirk took on an evil curve to it. “Try to keep your hands off each other until you’re wed.”

“Father--”

“That will be all,” Tywin bluntly dismissed him, indicating it was the end of another routinely one-sided conversation.

Jaime was determined not to let him go until he’d heard him out. “Father.” 

Tywin waited by the door.

It was time to broach the subject he had been putting off for a while. This was his problem. He couldn’t let the wench get entangled into this. She didn’t deserve this-- _him_. She didn’t have to put up with his father’s unreasonable demands and tyranny.

“We have to call off this wedding.”

His father ambled back to him in fury, in frustration… maybe both. “Don’t talk nonsense, Jaime. You know why--”

“I do.” Jaime lowered his voice to a humble request. “And I’m ready to marry.” He’d made up his mind that he would do everything in his power to avoid fucking up Brienne’s life. Last night, when she looked deep into his eyes and chose to stay, when she believed him and called him honourable, he knew she wasn’t like the others who knew him as the _Kingslayer_. “Not Brienne, though. Spare her. Find me another bride, father, and I’m ready to wed her right away--”

Tywin stopped him with a glare. “What is this game you’re playing?”

Jaime blinked, confused.

“You sneak out into the city with this woman, risk your neck to save her life,” his father began listing his exploits, “spend the night with her nursing your injuries. Yet you tell me you will marry anyone but her?”

“She deserves better than me, a life of her choice.” He pushed aside his contempt for her feelings for Renly. _Whatever she chooses._ “She can’t be bound to me for life.”

“Have you now begun to care for this woman enough to let her be happy?”

“I have,” Jaime admitted, the truth alarming him. “I care for her.”

“Marry her then.”

“Any other woman,” Jaime insisted, “Please. Anyone but her.”

“I see what you’re doing here.” It was as if a shadow had lifted off his father’s face. “Finding you another alliance is going to take a while. You’re stalling, buying more time to wriggle out of this so you can smuggle in a few more covert meetings with your sister--”

“I am not.” Such a thought had never even occurred to Jaime. “I--“

Tywin raised a hand to silence him. “Enough!” When Jaime had no choice but to wait for the onslaught, he made his decision clear, his tone telling Jaime that there was no window for negotiation. “You will marry Brienne of Tarth and no one else.”

“Father--”

The door slammed shut and Jaime was left to himself. His temples throbbing, he slumped into the bed. While marrying Brienne didn’t seem that bad an idea anymore, she would never consent to a life with him. He couldn't expect it of her. 

Not when she was in love with another man. 

_Renly fuckin Baratheon…_

“That pretty cunt,” he cursed, when Renly’s handsome face paid an unwelcome visit to his head. While he never really had a favourable opinion of the young lord, off late, his resentment for him had risen manifold. 

Brienne deserved better than wasting her life pining for him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Another week had sped by. Their wounds had healed, and Brienne, to her surprise, was beginning to get along considerably well with the Lannister family. With Lord Tywin, she maintained a careful distance, even more cautious these days ever since he’d caught her leaving Jaime’s chambers. What he thought of that, she was not yet able to find out, for he didn’t bring up the matter again, nor did his son. Tyrion, as always, was cheerful and amiable, welcoming her company whenever she happened to join the brothers for tea.

Meal times were not that awful anymore, except for times they had to dine with the queen. Cersei continued to lavish her with looks of contempt and loathing and the crown prince wasn’t far behind, sharing his mother’s disdain for her. But her other two children - Princess Myrcella and little Prince Tommen had taken a liking for her. Brienne adored the children too, often giving into their demands for a story or a stroll out in the gardens. _Aunt Brienne,_ Tommen had begun to call her, much to the queen’s wrath, and everytime she met the boy, Brienne couldn’t help wondering if this was what Jaime looked like when he was a child. 

Often these days, she found herself drifting into a world where she was happily married, with Jaime by her side. Many nights, she woke up panting, aroused by whatever she had been through, visions of Jaime doing unmentionable things to her, not leaving her mind for hours after.

Just like that morning when she had opened her eyes, her heart racing like hell. Jaime’s tongue around hers had felt so real and oh, so… _right_. He was buried to the balls inside her, his hands all over her body, pinching, groping, teasing, his hips slapping against hers in thrust after thrust after thrust--

Jaime was nudging her, urgently whispering, “Did you just doze off? Father’s looking straight at you and if you don’t want unnecessary questions--”

Burning all over, she snapped back to attention, dreading the prospect of Tywin Lannister’s eyes gouging out her deepest thoughts and dirtiest fantasies.

When they had finished dinner, Lord Tywin had something to say. “After careful consideration of the recent events--” his eyes darted towards Jaime, as if daring him to revolt “--Lord Selwyn and I have decided to advance the wedding by a week. We will have a feast tomorrow night to celebrate the union of our houses and the wedding will follow five days after.”

Brienne sat back in her chair, playing with the edge of her napkin, unsure what to make of this new development. There was so much crowding her mind. Helplessness. Confusion. A desperate need to break out and seek freedom… 

And yet, the prospect of this union didn’t seem that terrible anymore.

“Next week?” Cersei was the first to express her shock.

“Why postpone?” the king said, heartily seconding the decision as he got up. “Let the celebrations begin.”

He left the table, and with him, went Cersei, but not before she stopped to pelt Brienne with one of her fiercest glares.

When everyone but her and Jaime had left, she walked back to her room, her mind buzzing, barely aware of her surroundings. She washed and changed in a daze, then stood by the window, staring out into the star-studded sky, as if they might show her a way out of this mess.

 _Mess? Not really,_ a little voice inside her spoke up. Smiling, she recalled the way he had put himself in the line of fire to protect her, the tenderness with which he’d approached her wounds, his vulnerability when he trusted her enough to spill out his deepest, darkest secrets--

_But he loves his sister._

Darkness crept into her heart again, and her smile fading away, she slammed the window shut. Just as she was about to get to bed, a knock on the door told her that she had an untimely guest.

“I apologize on my father’s behalf.” 

Breathless, Jaime slipped past her before she could say anything. “I tried, wench,” he said, dropping himself onto her bed. “I tried hard to convince him. That morning. Two days after that. Yesterday. I told him to find me another bride--”

“Another bride?” She perched at the edge of the bed, surprised at how hard his words pinched her, and stirred in her… _jealousy?_

“Hmm.” Rocking back and forth, he began scratching his stubble. “I don’t want you to suffer this, Brienne--”

She broke into his flow of words, thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand. You want to be with your sister, yet you’ve consented to marry another. Why?”

Helplessness and desperation clouded his handsome face. “I have to do this to keep my family safe,” he sighed, then went on to tell her that his father had reasons to believe that Lady Olenna Tyrell possessed evidence linking him to his sister. “If the king gets wind of it, heads will roll. Cersei, the children--”

“--and you,” she finished for him.

Of course, this was the first thing the king would resort to.

“But I’ll find a way,” Jaime continued to reassure her. “You don’t have to burden yourself with this--”

“I will wed you,” she said, raising her chin, the decision taken in a split second. “I won’t let you face the consequences.”

Jaime looked at her incredulously. “Have you gone mad?”

“The wedding will take place as our fathers wish.” She was even more determined now. He had done everything in his capacity to keep her alive. Now she would do the same. Not just his, the lives of other innocents were at stake here.

“You’re pledging your life to me, a life you might as well devote to whatever you love,” he pointed out. “You can’t do that. I won’t let you.”

“I _can_ do that,” she defied him, and raising her voice a notch, she went on, “And who the hell are you to _let me_ do anything?”

Jaime shot to his feet. “As a friend and someone who wishes you well, don’t you think, I have a say in this?” 

“You do,” she agreed, getting off the bed and in level with his height. “But I too have the right to keep my friend’s arse out of danger.”

His jaw tightened. “If you’re doing this to settle a debt because I saved your life--”

“It's not only that,” she said, battling his fiery eyes. “I may not be a knight like you, Ser Jaime, but I am aware of your vows. And I put them to practice as much as I can. _Protect the innocent,_ you say,” she quoted the sacred words, “yet you expect me to ride away to a life tainted by blood on my hands--”

“Brienne, please...” His eyes began to thaw, but he still seemed keen to resist, to keep pressing on his point.

“Allow me this honour, Ser Jaime.” She took a hesitant tentative step towards him. “Let me do this to protect your children.” _And you,_ she wanted to add, but swallowed her emotions.

His lips twitched. “You love Renly.”

 _I did,_ her heart leaped up to correct him, _not anymore, not after--_

“And you love your sister,” she replied, smothering the voice inside her that was threatening to get louder. “I lost my heart to Renly, but his belongs to someone else. It is not mine. It never will be.” 

She knew full well she could never be at the receiving end of Jaime’s affection, yet this felt like the right thing to do. She had left her home to follow Renly because her instinct told her to. It was a sign from the gods. And tonight, instinct told her to stand by Jaime, to hold his hand. This alliance, his saving her, their taking care of each other -- everything was a message from the gods!

“I’ll find a way,” he continued to persist, “I will, my lady. I can’t let you--”

“Oh shut up, will you?” She dropped her gaze to his chest, unwilling to let him see the wetness her eyes had gathered. “You’d rather settle for another woman than marry me?”

“Do I sense a bit of jealousy, my lady?” When she looked up, he was smiling. “Have you grown fond of me over the weeks?”

She scoffed, hoping that would hide her emotions from him. “You have become more arrogant, ser, over-confident--”

He shut her up by taking her hand, and only then did she notice how close they were. “And you’re as stubborn as hell, wench.”

She had to keep talking to counter the tingling sensation at the base of her spine. “Your father won’t let you marry anyone else. So you don’t have a choice, I’m afraid. You’re stuck with me. If you intend to stand against my decision, you have to fight me for it.”

Jaime’s lips slowly parted. “Are you challenging me to a duel, Brienne?”

She stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “I am.”

He wore a cocky smirk. “You’ll lose.”

“See, that’s you being over-confident and thoroughly condescending of everyone else--”

He burst into peals of laughter. “I thought after winning your friendship, I’d piss you off a lot less.”

Brienne scowled. “You’re annoying. That’s never going to change. Not even if I spend a whole lifetime with you.”

“A whole lifetime?” He rolled his eyes. “Tolerating you for that long is going to be a pain.”

“Not as much as it would be for me.”

Once the humour had settled, guilt once again filled his eyes. “I will find a way to get you out of this, my lady.”

His offer pricking her, she snapped back, “You can think of that later.”

“What about your life, Brienne? Your freedom?”

“We can deal with one problem at a time,” she put him off, the way he was gently rubbing her knuckles ripping her forced sense of calm to pieces. “I know this isn’t a real marriage. It can never be. But you have to do this.”

The smile was back again, this time, bearing the hint of mischievous intent. “You’re right, wench. One problem at a time.” He pulled her to his chest, startling her. “For now, let’s begin with an attempt at dancing.”

Memories rushed in to flood her mind, filling her with a different type of panic. “I can’t dance--”

“Nor can I, my lady. Haven't been on a dance floor for ages.” She pulled back a breath when his arm went around her waist. “But tomorrow’s feast demands that we rise to the occasion.”

She had once been reasonably well-versed with the skill, but it had been years… years since someone treated her like a lady.

“I might trample your toes,” she warned, terrified when he twirled her around and brought her back into his arms.

“I’m pretty sure I'll survive it.”

She tried another excuse. “I might trip and lose my balance.”

That only made him hold her tighter, his eyes telling her that he wouldn’t take a refusal for an answer. “I’ll be there to hold you, Brienne. I won’t let you fall.” He threaded his fingers in hers. “ _Never_.”

His hand glided up her body, covering her back with gentle rubs, and she couldn’t move, the heat from his touch, penetrating her deep… deep… She wanted to break free, but the pull his gaze exerted on her was too strong. Too much. So much that she’d melt into a helpless pool by his feet.

“I haven’t done this for years,” she admitted, trying to break the spell when she had found her tongue again. “Since Renly--”

“Renly?” He arched his brows, the name bringing an immediate change in his mood. “Does your world start and end with him, Brienne?” His scorn for the handsome lord had returned in full force, on his face, in his tone. “I doubt you know what he truly is, that he likes--”

“Men.” Brienne remembered how badly she had cried when she’d come to learn that his colourful nights with Loras Tyrell were not rumours. “I know he likes men. I’m not blind.”

“And yet you--”

“He showed me kindness when no one else did,” she confessed, the fateful night, unforgettable. “He danced with me when all the other boys ridiculed me. Women like me can never get the man they love--” 

“Who says they can’t?” Jaime’s eyes softened and he nudged closer until they were chest to chest. “Maybe, you just haven’t met the right man yet, Brienne.”

_Maybe I did meet the right man this time. And this time too, like with Renly, I have lost, for he loves his sister._

Suddenly dizzy, she wriggled out of his arms. “You should return to your chambers, Ser Jaime.”

He looked lost. “Did I do something wrong--”

“No. I have a headache,” she lied. “I must try and get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow night at the feast.”

He searched her eyes, then with a polite nod, he left. 

Dazed, Brienne sought the comfort of her bed despite dreading the thoughts and dreams that would follow. 

_Not him,_ she murmured to herself, tightly shutting her eyes. _Not again._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The feast and much more.

When she entered the hall, all he could do was stare like a bewitched idiot.

Jaime had seen women far prettier than her. He had crossed paths with ladies with poise and elegance and every other virtue that was expected of them. In his youth, and at times, even at this age, he was sought by maidens who vied for his attention, but never before had he been enamoured by anyone but Cersei. Never once had he spared a second glance towards a woman who wasn’t his sister.

Not until his life had taken a turn a few weeks back. Not until _she_ decided to walk across to him. 

Brienne was no beauty, yet there was a certain freshness and innocence to her. Even in a dress, her gait was a man’s, but the woman inside her, deep down, asleep and hidden from the world, peeped out of the mask she’d worn when she blushed at the attention. 

And her eyes… he had no words that could be a fitting description to them tonight. The blue of her gown brought out the shine and the richness of the flawless sapphires, and the room was now twice as bright as before. As for Jaime, the most he could do was force himself into a state of calm when she approached him.

“Blue is a good colour on you, my lady,” he complimented, kissing her knuckles. “It goes well with your eyes.”

She laughed, despite the deepening pink patches on her cheeks spreading down her neck and to her chest. “I should like to think we’re well past the need for false-praising each other, Ser Jaime.”

“I am being entirely truthful, my lady. I--”

When the music began to play, snatching away his chance to defend himself and assure her it wasn’t merely a chivalrous compliment, he took her hand and led her to the centre of the hall.

As soon as she looked around at the crowd that had followed them, she froze. “I can’t.”

The other couples were busy arranging themselves in a formation. It was too late to withdraw. “There’s no way out now.” Jaime fell in line with the rest of the men. “We have to go through this, wench.”

Her lips pressed together, she stared at the floor, then looked up, her eyes meeting his in resignation. “If you insist. Just this one dance, but.”

Very reluctantly, they pushed themselves to begin. As nervous as she was, he was worried he might make a fool of himself, terrified he might do something to embarrass her. But Jaime soon discovered it wasn’t so bad when they got into the rhythm, his stiff limbs beginning to loosen and listen to the beat as they immersed themselves in it. As the tempo set in, even Brienne seemed to open up, her eyes adorably seeking him whenever the sequence of steps drew them apart, then lighting up, everytime she returned to his arms.

He continued to hold her long after the music slowed down to mark the end of the first round, relishing the feel of her delicate silk on his skin, his inner peace completely destroyed by the storm brewing inside him as he let his fingers gently kiss her waist. The warmth emanating from her body wiped his mind clean of all reasoning and coherence, spreading across every corner of it, thoughts of what he’d like to do to her, of how he would like to pleasure her night after night--

“Ser Jaime?”

“Huh?” Jolted out of his pleasant reverie and suddenly conscious of the sea of people around them, he tried not to stare too hard at her.

“I think you ought to release me,” she hissed, nervously glancing left and right. “People are watching.”

“How does it matter? We’re going to be married in under a week.” 

What he was treated to, was the blossoming colour on her face, accompanied by an indignant, “Isn’t that line getting a bit stale?”

Drawing her closer, he whispered into her ear, “Not at all, because this time, we’re going to be married for real.” 

Having said that, he hoped his voice didn’t betray how badly he was looking forward to their union. He wasn’t her ideal husband. He could never become one. He could never secure a place in her heart as long as Renly was stuck there like an annoying leech; a disgusting creature he would’ve relished getting rid of.

But eventually, it was her life and her choices. Even if it meant Renly would remain a permanent occupant of her heart.

“This is just a marriage of convenience,” she reminded him, the light in her eyes dying away as she glanced across at Cersei.

“It is, but that doesn’t mean--”

“Your brother is waving to us,” said Brienne, shifting her attention to Tyrion. “I’d rather go and sit with him than suffer another round of this dance.”

“Suffer?” Jaime questioned the blue eyes with feigned hurt in his. “Was I that bad, wench?”

She put on a serious expression. “Oh, absolutely terrible.”

Tyrion whistled as they took the empty seats at his table. “A pretty picture, you two make,” he admired, pouring out wine in two empty goblets. “A couple made for each other.”

Brienne chose to take a sip of her drink instead of reacting, while Jaime gave him a look to remind him of the talk they’d had that morning. “You know this is just something we’re both doing to--”

“Yes yes, you told me that.” Tyrion dismissively waved a hand. “But I also see the chances of this blooming into so much more than a mere agreement between you two.”

Jaime doubtfully shook his head. “I don’t think so.” _Not as long as Renly fuckin’ Baratheon rules her heart._

Brienne frowned at her drink, her fingers pressing into the sides of the goblet. “He’s right, Lord Tyrion. This is just a compromise we’ve both arrived at.”

Tyrion sat looking at them for a good many seconds, his mildly amused smile telling Jaime he didn’t believe a word of what he’d heard.

“Let’s play a game,” he suggested after a while, and before Jaime could stop him, he turned to Brienne with enthusiasm. “It’s called the drinking game, my lady. I’m going to try and guess something about you. If I’m right, you drink, and if not, I have to oblige you.”

“No,” Jaime groaned, dreading what it might lead to.

“Yes,” Tyrion said, overriding him, and when Brienne didn’t object, he took the first turn. “When you were a girl, you preferred to pick up a sword instead of a needle.”

“This isn’t fair, Lord Tyrion,” Brienne grumbled, bringing her goblet to her lips. “I barely know a thing about you while you seem to be well-versed with my childhood.”

“Have a go at my brother then.” Eyes full of mischief, Tyrion bit his lip. “I’m sure you must know quite a lot about him by now.”

Her eyes were on Jaime, full of respect and regard. “When Lord Tyrion was a child, you were the only one to protect him. From your sister. From other children.”

That took Jaime by surprise. “Did he tell you _everything_ about me, Brienne?”

Brienne grinned. “Drink.” And Tyrion echoed after her, “Drink.”

Jaime decided to exact his revenge. “You danced with Renly Baratheon.”

Brienne looked like she’d been cheated out of her prized possessions. “That’s not fair! I only told you that last night. You’re supposed to _guess_ , not simply state something I’ve already shared with you.”

Jaime laughed. “Drink, wench.”

Tyrion’s shrewd eyes narrowed on them. “ _Wench?_ ”

Before his brother’s mind could dwell on it and question them, Jaime decided to quickly divert him, striking Brienne with his next, something that had been bothering him for a while. “You said you had to _suffer_ dancing with me, but deep down, you didn’t find me that bad.”

Dropping her gaze to the table, and not arguing this time, she took another gulp and Jaime’s heart did a little leap.

Tyrion refilled their glasses. “Who wants to take the next turn?”

Brienne looked up at Jaime. “You love your family more than anything else. You would do anything for them.”

“That was quite simple,” Tyrion remarked, when Jaime drank deeply. “And here’s another easy one, brother. You risked your life to save hers. You protected her, something you haven’t yet done for anyone outside our family. And you will continue to do so. All your life.”

Taking another long swig, Jaime pondered these words. That was true. He had rarely been this unselfish before. The wench had wormed her way into his mind and somewhere even deeper, so deep that he couldn’t--

“And you, my lady--” Tyrion turned to her with a knowing smile “--decided to set aside your aspirations and wed him.” Brienne shot Jaime a wide-eyed accusation, but his brother merely kept smiling and insisted, “Drink.”

Quietly accepting her defeat, she took to her wine.

Tyrion kept up the onslaught, giving her no time to recover. “You’re in love with Renly Baratheon.” 

Brienne went very stiff. Jaime watched her carefully. Every twitch of her facial muscles was important, as was every blink and every shiver of her lips. He waited, expecting her to drink though a part of him wished she’d cast away her glass and prove his brother wrong. 

“Are you going to take a sip of that drink?” Tyrion prompted, as she lapsed into a grave silence, contemplating her response. “Or not?”

Still refraining from confirming or refuting the claim, she shifted uneasily in her chair, when a menacingly sweet voice wafted across. “You think a man like Renly Baratheon would even look twice at _her_?”

Jaime slowly turned, the presence of his sister, jolting his heart out of its place. Brienne shuffled to her feet and obliged her with a hasty curtsy.

“Would you be kind enough to allow me a turn in this game, dear brothers?” Without waiting for their consent, she took the vacant chair beside Jaime. “Thrice betrothed before Jaime, all the three alliances came apart because you were unsuitable to be a lady and a wife.”

The blood drained off her face, Brienne turned to leave. 

“Brienne, wait,” Jaime stopped her, then turned to his sister in an attempt to bring down the tension that was beginning to rapidly build up between the two women. “Your grace, I think we should--”

“Sit down, Lady Brienne,” Cersei commanded, her voice dripping with sinister intent, “and finish the game.”

Brienne reluctantly went back to her seat.

“Drink.” Cersei smirked, clearly enjoying Brienne’s discomfort. “Even an old man your father’s age refused to wed you--”

“I turned him down,” Brienne quietly corrected, her face reddening with embarrassment and rage.

“When you were a girl, your Septa told you something that was too scathing for your ears.” Cersei went on, deriving special pleasure in tormenting Brienne. “That even if you managed to secure a husband--” she shot Jaime an angry look “--he would _never_ desire you.”

“That’s not true,” Jaime protested, “Stop doing this to her--” 

“I did nothing wrong. I’m just playing the game in its right spirit. If you can’t stomach the truth, brother, that’s your problem. It is what women like her are destined for,” Cersei answered him, her eyes still busy, chopping Brienne down to pieces. “Now drink, Lady Brienne.”

When Brienne downed the contents of her goblet in one go and poured herself some more, Jaime couldn’t stand it anymore. “Enough,” he nearly shouted, “you’ve gone too far, Cersei.” Recalling that they weren’t alone, he continued a bit more softly, “Let us take your leave now. I have to escort Lady Brienne to her chambers--”

“I have not finished yet,” Cersei kept going, disregarding his request. “Lady Brienne has agreed to marry you, Jaime, only for our name, because you’re the heir to our house--”

Brienne shot to her feet. “Now that’s an absolutely false accusation--”

Cersei awarded her another poisonous smile. “Why then, my lady, did you suddenly consent to this alliance when you had vehemently opposed it earlier? My father wants my brother wed. Jaime can have any woman he wants. You can live your life in peace. So why?” Her voice turned icier when she deduced, “Unless… you’ve fallen in love with my brother?”

“She doesn’t have to answer this,” Jaime intervened, glancing at Brienne’s shocked face.

Cersei turned her wrath on him. “Can’t your _wife-to-be_ speak for herself?” 

Jaime glared at his sister, keen to cut her down with a blistering reply, but by the time he could put his feelings to words, there came an interruption in the form of one of his father’s guards.

“Lord Tywin wishes to speak to you, your grace,” he informed Cersei. “He is waiting for you--”

Cersei looked like she wanted nothing more than to feed him to any beast that would have him. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

But the poor fellow, though dreading the consequences of his defiance, continued to stand there. “I’m afraid he won’t take your refusal for an answer. He has asked me to escort you--”

“Very well.”

Jaime heaved a sigh of relief when she stormed off, but one look at Brienne gulping down yet another generous helping of the wine told him this unpleasant exchange had bothered her more than he’d thought it would.

“I must leave too. It’s been a long day,” she announced with a stony expression, setting down her empty glass, and without even looking at either of them, she followed Cersei out of the hall.

And Jaime was left wondering how, with just the appearance of one woman, an evening could tumble down from absolutely delightful to downright dreadful. He stared down his drink as if that might tell him what to do next, when Tyrion suggested, “Don’t you think you should go after her?”

“She’s upset. And probably wants to be left alone.”

Tyrion made an impatient noise. “Nonsense! She needs you - to be reassured by you that no matter what Cersei says or does to intimidate her, you’ll always be there for you.” 

A little unsure about facing her alone, Jaime weighed his options.

“Alone and drunk with Cersei’s taunts dragging her down, she’ll probably be more in need of your company now, than on a good day,” Tyrion said, reading his mind. “Also, I don’t get the reason for your hesitation. She’s going to be your wife soon and you’re so smitten with her that you spoke up against our sweet sister in her defence--”

“I’m not smitten,” Jaime snapped, alarmed at being called out so blatantly. “I stepped in because she started insulting Brienne--”

“Our sister has insulted _countless_ people. How many have you, so chivalrously, stood up to protect, brother?” Tyrion got to his feet. Gesturing Jaime to do the same, he urged, “Go now. Talk to her. Tell her--”

“I have nothing to _tell_ her,” Jaime irritably smothered his suggestion. “She’s in love with Renly Baratheon.”

Tyrion squinted at him. “When I told her that, she didn’t drink. Which means--”

“She would have, if Cersei hadn’t turned up--”

“And the possibility that she might have, very clearly bothers you,” Tyrion shrewdly, and very accurately, concluded.

“Of course, it does.” Jaime attempted to cover up his turbulence with a seemingly plausible reason. “She is to be my wife--”

“You’ve fallen in love with her!” Tyrion was smiling, his eyes shining with glee. “At last, you’ve managed to get over our vicious sister--”

“Enough of your nonsense.” Jaime’s face was on fire and his palms uncomfortably damp. “I’m leaving.”

His brother’s grin spread from one ear to the other. “That’s precisely what I’ve been telling you to do. Go up there and be with the woman you love--”

“Oh, shut your mouth!”

Tyrion burst out laughing. “When have you ever managed to shut me up? Now get the hell out of here if you want to be spared of--”

Jaime didn’t stay around to entertain him further. His mind bursting at its seams with hundreds of thousands of thoughts, of what could’ve been and of what might be, he rushed up to her room.

“My lady,” he shouted, pounding at the door, “open--”

“I’m not dead,” she grumbled, letting him in at his fourth attempt. “One knock would have sufficed.”

“Are you alright?” He peered into her eyes, concerned. _Very drunk,_ he could make out, _and very upset,_ the lack of the usual brilliance in them, bringing down his heart a little.

“Perfectly fine,” she replied with a lofty edge to her voice. “What brings you here, Ser Jaime?”

He kicked the door shut. “I came to apologize for Cersei’s behaviour.”

Darkness shrouded her face. “It wasn’t your fault.” She went over to the cabinet beside her bed and pulled out a set of nightclothes. “Besides, she spoke the truth.”

Jaime followed her inside. “If your Septa told you that you were undesirable, she was the worst person you’ve ever grown up listening to--” When he saw her unsuccessfully struggling with her laces, he offered, “Let me help--”

“No.” She shrank away. “I can manage to clothe myself, Ser Jaime. Now if you could please turn around…”

Stung by the sudden icy wave in her tone, Jaime did as told, allowing her the privilege of privacy as she changed. 

A long stretch of silence ensued, after which she began to speak.

“My father tried his best to get me married,” she started telling him. “But failed in all his three attempts.” With an underlying sadness and disappointment in her voice, she went on to relate how the first one died, the second, Red Ronnet, insulted her with a rose before rejecting her, and the third, a Castellan, her father’s age, insisted she ought to give up arms if he had to marry her. Jaime couldn’t see her face, but her feelings about her youth were blatantly loud. “I told my father I would marry him if he could beat me in combat.” She paused to thread her words with a dry laugh. “But fortunately, he ended up a furious old man and a pile of broken bones when I had finished with him.”

Jaime was itching to wipe out the impact of Cersei’s words on her. “None of them deserved you.”

“You can look now, Ser Jaime.”

He did, and when he drew closer, he could see the distress in her eyes. “Let Cersei’s words not dissuade you, wench.” How he wished he could reach out and caress those cheeks, to take her in his arms and show her how much she was wanted and desired. But Renly’s fucking face served as a restraint, as before, and he reached out for a string of laces that lay undone on her chest, instead. “You missed this.” 

He began knotting them, trying not to let his mind go astray, trying to suppress the sensations exploding inside him as he couldn’t look away from the swell of her breasts rising and falling with every breath she took.

When his fingertips kissed her bare skin, she shuddered and backed away. “Damn,” she cursed, losing her balance when her foot got entangled in the gown lying on the floor.

But Jaime was there for her before any damage could be done. “Got you.” His arms were around her before she could end up on the ground. “I told you I’d never let you fall, Brienne.” 

The big blue eyes were back on his, drawing him into their web as he drew her tighter into his embrace. “Your sister was right. I’m ugly, undesirable--”

“You’re far from undesirable. Anyone would have you,” he breathed, having no say over what he was saying.

Her chin trembled and she tentatively bit her lower lip, attracting his attention to it. “Stop lying just to make me feel better.”

He could barely hear himself when he replied, “I’m not lying, Brienne.” He inched his face closer, his mouth just shy of hers. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want this moment to pass.

And she didn’t free herself. She didn’t push him away. She didn’t take away her arms which were still wrapped around his neck. “Ser Jaime.”

Her tipsy half-lidded gaze was driving him mad. “Yes, my lady?” 

She said no more, but bound him to her intoxicating eyes, and he kept falling, deep and farther and way beyond rescue. On the one hand, he knew he wasn’t worthy enough for her, but on the other, a part of him ached to prove he could be a much better husband and a lover than Renly or any other cunt that dared enter her heart. 

His eyes fell to her lips, full and moist, and he wanted to suck them dry, to show her what being kissed felt like, to make her feel like a woman...

So he did.

His heartbeat deafeningly loud, and with no control over his emotions, he captured her mouth in a hungry, desperate move. Slowly, he took it at first, letting his hands wander all over her body, letting the taste of her sweet lips drift into every nerve, every vein he possessed, and when she shut her eyes and gave in to him, he went all the way in, consuming her, drinking her in, her touch raising him to heights he’d never ascended before, the fire in her lips and the wine in her tongue making him want to carry her to the bed and take her right now--

_What the hell am I thinking?_

Jaime pulled away before he could do further damage, wanting to hit himself on the head. She was drunk and hurt and not in her senses. To barge into the chambers of a sad, inebriated woman to offer her comfort was like playing with fire. He could get them both scarred for life if he didn’t tread carefully.

“Apologies, my lady, that was inappropriate. I didn’t mean to--” he mumbled, out of breath and not daring to meet her eyes.

Back to her usual composed self, she immediately straightened, and when she’d finished patting down her trousers, her hands flew to her chest to adjust her shirt and ensure she was adequately covered. “Goodnight, Ser Jaime.”

“I'll have some supper sent up to you, my lady,” he said, remembering they hadn't eaten.

“I'm not hungry,” she protested, slumping onto the bed, “and I feel a little dizzy.”

“You must eat something. A little at least.”

Not daring to linger any longer and worried that his impulsive kiss was probably one of the reasons for her lack of hunger, he left the room, his head full of Tyrion’s alarming claims.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the wedding date draws closer, things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loads of pining in this chapter. Be prepared!

“My dear?” 

The voice seemed to be floating at a distance, dreamy and unreal, yet somewhere around her.

“Brienne?”

This time it was more solid, and she straightened, wary of yet another lapse in her concentration which had become a frequent occurrence these days.

“You seem unwell,” her father said, dragging her back to reality.

_Not unwell, just…_

Her ailment, if it could be termed an ailment, was quite different, actually, and unexpected, and perhaps, incurable, too. Two days had passed since that bitter-sweet night. And both those nights she had not slept, thinking, dreaming, waking up, dripping in sweat even when she managed to doze off for a few minutes. 

Such a lot could’ve happened had Jaime not snapped back to his senses and remembered his loyalty to Cersei.

And unfortunately, that was real, not his kiss. 

His heart belonged to only one woman. And with her, it would always remain. Even if it was Brienne he had danced with. Even if he’d stood up in her defence. Even if he had barged into her room to comfort her, hold her and almost… 

She shook herself to wake up and see it for what it was - a drunken mistake. Every moment until his apology had been a sweet illusion. His behaviour after that, the way he pretended all that never happened, was proof enough that he wasn't thinking with his head that night. 

“Brienne?”

Her father was once again worriedly trying to make meaning out of her expression.

“Yes, father?”

“The wedding is to take place in three days.” His brows furrowed with curiosity when he examined her. “But there’s still time.” 

“For what?” Did he think he could talk Tywin Lannister out of something he’d go to any lengths to achieve? While her whole perspective on this wedding had taken an entirely different turn over the last few days, a part of her was still bitter that she’d been sacrificed, that she wasn’t given a choice. “I don’t suppose you ever intended doing anything about it at the end of this month.”

 _And it is too late. I gave him my word. I can’t get over him now. I cannot bring myself to look at another man, not even Renly._ “The wedding must go on.”

Her father looked half-pleased and half in disbelief. “What has brought about this change of heart? You despise the Kingslayer--”

“His name is Ser Jaime,” she immediately corrected him, stung by the insulting reference to the noble deed the world decried him for. “He’s a Knight, father, and the most honourable man I’ve ever known. I _don’t_ despise him.”

“Hmm.” Selwyn Tarth got up and paced the room, and when he returned to her, there was a gentle smile on his lips. “ _I want to have nothing to do with the Kingslayer._ ” He arrested her in a piercing, knowing look. “Wasn’t that what you told me when I first broke the news to you? Something has changed in you. Have you fallen--”

“I made him a promise,” Brienne diverted him, knowing full well where he was going with it. She knew she’d fallen for Jaime. She didn’t have to be told that, not when he could never return her affection. “And I’m going to keep my word.” 

Having no interest in delving deeper into this conversation, she cited some vague excuse and took his leave. 

Off she went, straight to the training yard to get her mind off her feelings, hoping some time alone with a sword would help lessen the burden on her chest. 

Training would help get around this dull heaviness. It certainly did make her feel better when she’d first stumbled upon Renly’s tryst with Ser Loras. Since her arrival at King’s Landing, she had not touched a sword, and she itched to get her hands dirty, to welcome this much-needed diversion. It didn’t matter that she held a sparring sword. That she had no one to practise with also made no difference. With the breeze kissing her face, gently cooling the beads of perspiration on her forehead, it felt liberating, taking the weight of her chest.

She would’ve gone on, engaged in this solitary dance if not for the arrival of the very person she was trying to keep her mind away from.

“Do not stop on my account, my lady.” 

Folding his arms across his chest, Jaime leaned lethargically against the nearest tree, making a pretty picture, indeed. Had his beard grown a bit over the days? Brienne had to bite her lip, to stop herself from staring, for it certainly made him ten times more attractive.

The best remedy was to get out of his sight; to get him out of her sight. “I’ve finished, I was just leaving--”

“No, you weren’t.” 

Drawing an identical wooden sword from his waist, he strolled over to her, lazily handsome, looking every bit the grand knight and the majestic lion he was. “Remember the duel you challenged me to that night?” He slowly circled her, his eyes travelling all over her, absorbing her stance, observing her grip on her weapon. “ _Now_ appears to be the right time for it, don’t you think?”

“I’m not--” _really up for it,_ she was about to say, but his expert wrist movements distracted her, tempted her, pulled her deeper into the quagmire she’d been trying not to sink in.

Wiping his brow on his sleeve, he stepped closer. “May I have this dance, my lady?” 

He gave her no choice, no time to think, and before she could prepare herself, he lunged at her, as if it was his right, as though she was his to conquer. 

No novice at this, her warrior instinct and her defences kicked in at once and she held out against him, her weapon kissing his, her defiant reluctance to stick to her resolve to walk away, compelling her to indulge in what was turning out to be an exhilarating dance with him.

They were an ably matched pair, move for move, stroke for stroke, and once or twice, he got the better of her, knocking her to the ground. The game would’ve been over had it not been for her resilience and determination. As they went on, she came to realize why he was revered as a fearsome swordsman. Nimble, and with an eye to spot his opponent’s smallest mistake, he’d definitely be a formidable enemy to anyone who met him in real combat.

Before long, however, her admiration for his skill was starting to turn into frustration when he kept drawing her to the edge more than once, and if she did nothing about it, she’d have to bow to him. But that wasn’t her. She wouldn’t go down without giving him a good fight. Quickly adapting to his aggression, she altered her strategy. Adopting a defensive tactic against him, she slowly began to wear him out, thinning his patience, holding on against him until his strength drained away so she could move for the kill.

And she did.

Grunting, she pushed him back with all her strength and cornered him to the tree, pressing her body up against his chest, holding her blade against his throat. 

“That was well fought, indeed,” he complimented with a smile, his eyes merrily twinkling despite his helpless state of defeat.

Unperturbed, he let his gaze wander - her eyes, her nose, her lips… and when he went further down, she hoped she was not blushing. The fighter in her wanted to push harder into him, show him who was the victor, but the woman in her began responding to him in a very different way, her nipples hardening against his broad chest, her palms slippery with sweat, her breathing dropping to a sluggish pace, getting heavier at the sight of his lips, the memory of what they’d done to her that night, putting her in a very precarious position despite the advantage she had.

“Yield.” Her voice was shaky, a shade above a whisper and far from a confident winner’s.

His left eye twitched a bit, and with a slight tilt of his head and a sly smirk, he kicked her away in an unexpected move.

Surprised and angry at her own lapse of concentration, she struggled to stay on her feet. But he made sure of that, and grabbing her by the waist, he flipped her over and pinned her to the same tree. Their positions now reversed, he was in control, with his body holding hers in place, her right wrist in his firm grip and her other hand tied down by his strong arm.

He breathed long and hard on her face, striking her with desperation of a very different kind, the sweet hot ache pooling between her legs, sparking in her, a hopeless yearning for him. “You could’ve had me there,” he growled, his lips just shy of hers, every hair on his beard countable, “had you been a bit more alert, my sweetling.”

Flustered at being called _sweetling_ , frustrated, and worse than that, aroused, she looked away, finding it impossible to sustain his gaze anymore.

But thankfully, she didn’t have to endure this for long. He released her, and she sank against the tree, panting heavily.

“Very few men have beaten me, wench,” he admiringly pointed out. “You’re as good as them. If you had been a little less distracted, you could’ve had me at your feet, licking the dust.”

She slipped away from the tree, still somewhat dazed with the experience. Ready to get back indoors, she was about to leave, when he began circling her again, critically examining her posture. “This,” he said, getting behind her, his right hand enclosing hers, pressing her fingers to the wooden hilt. “See this, wench?” When he tightened his fingers around hers, her stomach tightened. “Your grip let you down.” He moved closer, pressing his chest to her back. “That’s why you couldn’t hold out against me.”

“I know how to hold a sword,” she argued, disregarding the fact that he was right, that her damp, slippery palm had brought about her downfall.

“And the way you’re standing,” he went on, his lips brushing her earlobe as his other arm came around her, his palm resting just below her ribs. “Your back needs to be a bit straighter--” He gave her stomach a slight push inwards. She shut her eyes, trying to clear her head, hoping the tiny explosions ripping her apart would leave her alone. “Like this,” he whispered, making matters only worse.

 _I know the correct stance,_ she wanted to say, to fend him off, but he dragged his hand up her front, slowly, inch by inch, pressing, pushing, stopping short when the edge of his thumb kissed the underside of her breast, and her will to resist was lost.

 _What are you doing,_ she tried to ask, but those words too met an unfortunate death within her, as did her need to break off, to push him away, to get the hell out of there and back to the safety of her room. Whatever he was doing, she wanted it to never end. She wanted to be bound forever in the confinement of his arms.

“You will, one day, make a wonderful knight, wench,” he said, the deep seductive tone of his voice leaving her tingling in the ear, the sensation running all the way down her back.

“What if--what if your father sees me here--weilding a sword?”

“You were born to swing a sword, Brienne.” There was naked pride in his voice. “And I assure you nothing and no one will stop you living the life you want. I would be proud to have a wife who can protect me.”

Brienne felt like a piece of pliant clay in his arms, soft and ready to be led on by him. Saving her life was out of chivalry, but the way he was holding her, the warmth and reassurance in his voice - could it be something else? Could it be that he too harboured more than friendship for her--

The next moment, the answer, and her ability to think again, hit her like a boulder to the head, squeezing out of her mind, the slim strand of chance she found herself clinging on to.

Renly had taken her in his arms too. And just like Jaime, he had danced with her. Jaime had stood against his sister when she insulted her, but Renly had protected her too. He had silenced those vile boys for her. 

And, out of pity, it had been, for he loved a man, a knight, never again to look upon a plain maiden like her.

_Is it that Jaime too…_

The near-certainty of that filled her with regret for spilling out her secrets about her woeful childhood. Men like Renly and Jaime would only be kind to her out of compassion and sympathy for her. Jaime had apologized for kissing her. He could never love a wench like her--

“I must be going, Ser Jaime” she excused herself, and without even giving him a chance to respond, she hastily jerked free of his hold and fled the place.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Having whiled away the whole fucking day mulling over their little adventure in the training yard, here he was, at the end of it, restless and confused. 

Whatever he'd tried to do, his mind was not in it. What the hell had gone into him that morning? He had let his feelings cut loose and dominate his sanity. He’d allowed himself to act like a green squire, like he’d never held a woman before. Blurting out whatever had occurred to his disoriented mind, he wasn’t even sure if he had given her the right advice!

Panting, Jaime stopped pacing the room and sat down. It was fact, though. He had never held a woman like _her_. How badly he wanted her… to overpower her, fling her down, tear off her clothes… The thought itself left him aching with arousal, his erection harder than--

_No!_

Certain he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he’d explained himself to Brienne and put his troubled mind to rest, he bolted out of there.

“I didn’t expect you here,” he told the handmaiden who had answered the door. It was too late in the night for her to still linger around.

White as a sheet, the girl looked like she’d seen a ghost. “M’lord… I didn’t…” she stuttered, “I didn’t think you’d come here at this time.”

“Why are you still here?” he asked again, unable to fathom her shock.

The girl nervously blinked. “Lady Brienne has had an accident. I’ve been tending to her.”

Panic hit him, crushing him so hard he couldn’t breath, and he rushed to her bed, fear for her life and her welfare, the only thoughts in his head. 

“Gods, Brienne--” he stopped a foot short of her bed. Her right foot swathed in bandages, the only bits of skin he could make out were her toes. “You can leave now,” he dismissed the maid.

“But I need to be here,” the girl insisted, restless. “I have to change her dressing before she sleeps--”

“I’m here now. I’ll do it.”

“But--”

“I’ll take good care of her,” he assured her, trying not to be harsh. “Your lady will be fine in the morning.”

When they were left alone, Brienne pushed herself up to a sitting position.

Jaime had to get to the bottom of this. “How did this happen?”

“Broken glass in the bath. I stepped in and--” Taking note of his horrified face, she tried to water down the severity of the situation. “It’s not that bad, Ser Jaime.”

“How did the glass get there without your knowledge?” There could be only one plausible answer to this, and he didn’t like the sound of it.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“The girl who was attending to you,” he mused, recalling the look of horror he was greeted with. “She’s in charge of the cleaning here?” Something about this felt grossly out of place.

“Yes, but it wasn’t her. I’ve already spoken to her.”

Of course she was going to deny it. The more he probed into his suspicion, the more convincing it felt. No wonder the girl was so scared when he’d turned up, unannounced. She was terrified he might see through her doings and punish her.

“It was just an accident. I’ll be fine.”

 _This was no accident._ It could’ve been much worse, but thank the gods, she had managed to escape with just a bandaged foot. His stomach churned at the thought of his sister stooping to this extent. Insulting his soon to be wife was one thing, but causing bodily harm--

“Ser Jaime, don’t worry about me,” she tried to ease him again. “Why don’t you go to bed--”

“Not before I change your bandages and put you to sleep.”

Occupying the space by her side, he placed her leg on his lap and gently began unwrapping the layers of cloth. 

“You should’ve been more careful.” Try as he might, he couldn’t push down the agitation creeping up his chest.

Her large eyes were soft with concern. “You worry too much.”

“I do,” he shouted, terrifying images of what Cersei could do to her, refusing to leave him in peace, “because I can’t let anything happen to you.”

_I’d kill for you, wench. I’d give up my life. I’d do anything to keep you safe and warm and happy._

With a gentle smile, she chose to observe what he was doing instead of meeting his eyes. “You can’t be protecting me all my life, Ser Jaime.”

He reached out for a fresh bundle of cloth by her table and began covering her cuts. “Isn’t that what marriages are about, my lady?”

Her drooping eyelids covered those astonishing eyes, hiding them from him. “Not ours, though.”

_Right. You’re still pining for Renly. And you will, all your life._

“Lie down and try to get some sleep.” He eased her into a comfortable position and pulled the sheets to her chin before returning to his spot by her side.

She looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to get some rest yourself?”

“I will.” But he wasn’t going anywhere for the time being. “Once you’re asleep.”

On her bed, he sat, never taking her eyes off her, watching her drift away, and when her breathing settled down into a slow rhythmic pattern, when he was sure she wouldn’t wake for a while, he got up.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he whispered gentle words of reassurance she couldn’t hear, promising her he would always be there for her. 

And when he left her chambers, he went straight to the one person he had to see before the night ended, the only one with answers to his burning fury. With the King away until tomorrow, now was the best time.

“Why did you hurt her?” he bluntly confronted as soon as he slipped past her door.

Cersei welcomed his scathing words with a sickeningly sweet smile. “It’s so nice to see you, Jaime. Come in. Stay. Talk to me--”

“Did you or did you not injure Brienne this evening?” 

Her brows converged in surprise. “Of course, I didn’t.”

Jaime grabbed her arm. “Don’t you lie to me! That was you. You had the glass broken and scattered so she could step on it and suffer. You made it look like an accident--”

“Didn’t it ever occur to you that it might have actually been an accident? Careless, and in a hurry, maids tend to falter at times.” But then, something in her face shifted, and she looked more dangerous than ever, far from the pretty, dainty lady he’d known and loved. “You really thought I’d resort to something as petty as this? Why would I bother with a few tiny cuts when I can do so much more?” 

“More?” He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

The glint of mad evil in her eyes screamed of loathing for Brienne, of what she was capable of to achieve her means. “I tried to make things easier for us once, Jaime, but you, the chivalrous idiot that you’ve always been, were foolish enough to stand between her and my plan.”

It took him a moment to fit things together. “Those men…” he recalled with shock and disgust, “that was you.”

“That was my gold gone down the drain,” she hissed like an angry serpent. “Thanks to you. Had you left her to her fate that night, you wouldn’t have had to go ahead with this doomed marriage.” 

“You know I agreed to this for you and the children.”

Sliding closer, she let her fingers trail through his beard. “I do. If you’re still insistent on marrying her as father demands, do it. Leave her behind at Casterly Rock while we--” she seductively ran a thumb along his lips. “We can still be together, Jaime. We _will_ be one, whether you wed this wench or some other.”

Jaime jerked her hand away. “You deserve to be punished for what you’ve done,” he barked, sad and angry at what she’d done, of what she really thought of him. “As long as I’m married to Brienne, I can never be yours.”

She sneered at his declaration. “Since when have you become this honourable? Since when have vows become this important to you?”

“You have never understood me, Cersei.” His heart soared at the memory of the intimate secrets he’d shared with Brienne. “You’ve never tried to.” 

“What drives you? Pity, is it?” She smirked as if it could be nothing else. “For the ugly beast who is no match for you.”

“Don’t you insult her!” he roared, every word she uttered, poison to his ears. “You did enough damage at the feast, so cruelly bringing up the darkest moments of her life. How the hell do you know this much about her?” 

Another sour expression met his question. “When father brought her here, I sent my man to Tarth, to bribe her Septa and squeeze out details that would make her cringe--”

All he could do was shake his head. “I don’t believe you.” 

Appalled and revulsed with everything she’d done, Jaime didn’t want to stay here another second, but when he made to leave, she caught his hand.

“I did all this for you, Jaime,” she tried to reason with him, her voice reeking of desperation, “for us. I love you.”

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have sent assailants after me--”

“I told you, that was for her.” Her aggression was beginning to build up again. “Father cannot force you--”

“It’s not about father compelling me anymore! It's no more about anything but--” His rage aside, the truth of it all hit him now, as though this conversation had lifted the fog in his mind. “I love Brienne,” he said, glad to admit it, savouring the sound of it. “Yes, I'm in love with her,” he repeated, looking directly into Cersei's furious eyes, “and I’m not going to let you or anyone else touch even a hair on her head as long as I live.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few Cersei shaped complications arise, but all's sorted out in the end.

“This is not love, but an illusion. She dared to fling mud in your eyes, blinding you, and you were foolish enough to stand by and succumb to her.” 

Cersei was livid, like all the loathing in the world had come to take residence in one woman’s heart, reserved solely for one woman. “Why don’t you understand?” she tried desperately to convince him. “She has cast a spell on you, trapped you in a web you’re getting deeper into. You love me, Jaime. You have always loved _only_ me.”

An illusion, he sure had been under, his undying devotion for the cruel, manipulative woman who had held his affections for years. “You’re my sister, and there will always be that bond I can never sever.” She was his blood, his family, and he would do all in his power to keep her safe from the wrath of the king. “But she’s the one I love. I will go on with this wedding no matter what, to protect our children--”

“Now I see it. You don’t love her, you _want_ her.” Enraged eyes flashed sparks at him. “You’re doing this not for me or the children, but to charm and bed the woman you’re lusting after.” 

“Cersei--”

Mellowing down again, she came closer. “Am I not good enough for you? Why do you need another to warm your bed when I--”

“Lust?” As if she would understand how far beyond that his feelings went. “If I had wanted, I could’ve had any woman I desired. It was out of my loyalty for you that I didn’t--” But when he thought of Brienne and her similar devotion to Renly, his heart hit the pit of his stomach. “She doesn’t even love me,” he lamented, aching deep down that there wasn’t more to her commitment. “She has only agreed to this to save you--” 

“Are you that naive? Or are you simply blind?” Jealousy, the urge to inflict the worst possible harm and every other negative emotion surfaced on her face. “The way she looks at you--”

“What do you mean?” His mind miraculously diverted from their dark conversation, Jaime’s heart returned to his place, his spirits rising at her suggestion.

Her envy had reached its peak. “The way every woman looks at you? It’s like they’d want your fingers up their bloody cunts--”

He was barely listening to the rest. _Not Brienne,_ the functional part of his brain was bent on concluding, _she is unlike other women,_ but then--

“You cannot be with her,” his sister continued to vent her rage and frustration. “Even if you wed her--”

“Good night, Cersei.”

Before she could vent out the rest of her rage, he made good his exit.

_The way she looks at you._

Cersei’s observation kept striking him, harder, its impact getting stronger as he kept up a brisk pace along the sparsely-populated passages.

_Does she, though… ?_

The possibility now refused to leave him alone. To counter that, thoughts of Renly began to crowd his head to add to his turmoil, pointing out bluntly and squarely that he was the man she’d sworn to love all her life.

 _But her shy eyes, the way she blushes when I look at her, the way she lights up like a freshly bloomed rose when I touch her..._

He could be mistaken and Cersei could be wrong, but there was only one way to find out. Brienne’s chambers were where he itched to go, to tell her, to ask her... but it had to wait until morning. Injured and heavily sedated, she was fast asleep, her rest far more important than anything else.

But would sleep grace him with its company? He could only try and hope morning would dawn on him sooner than it usually did.

+++++

When the new day finally blessed him with its presence, bringing through his window the first golden rays of the emerging sun, Jaime had to suppress the urge to run to her. It wasn’t yet a civil hour for someone, particularly one un-well to wake. It would be wise to wait. 

An hour, perhaps two, he killed, pacing around his room, swinging his weapon around for want to something better to do, but that failed to help too, because the instant he unsheathed his sword, he was reminded of the various urges he’d scarcely been able to hide from her during those memorable few minutes he’d spent sparring yesterday.

Others would call it _sparring_ , but he’d rather term it something else.

When the time felt right, he dressed in the best he could gather and sped up the stairs. He would hold her hand and pour out his heart to her, and if she felt the same, he’d kiss her sweet lips, sealing their soon-to-be union with the essential bond of love. So much love his heart held for her, that he feared it might burst.

“Wench,” he called out, knocking softly. If she was still asleep, he didn’t want to be a bother. He could come back later. He had all the time in the world -- his whole life ahead with her to talk to her to his heart’s content.

When a minute had passed with barely a sound from inside, he decided to try one more time. “Lady Brienne--”

“She got dressed and left early this morning.”

Jaime had to struggle to keep his anger down when he looked into the face of his visitor. “You?” It was the same girl who had been attending to Brienne last night. “It was because of you--”

“I’m sorry, m’lord,” the girl admitted. Scared and trembling, she was a sorry sight to behold. “It was one of the lady’s prized oils. I took it off to wipe the shelf and -- and the bottle slipped from my hand and broke--”

“You could’ve cleaned up the mess,” Jaime said, trying hard not to yell at the girl. “You could’ve told her to keep away until then.”

“I wanted to,” she began to explain, and Jaime saw no deceit nor conspiracy in her. “Lady Brienne usually has her bath just before bed, so I was to clear it before that. But last evening, she didn’t even wait for me to prepare her bath, and by the time I could stop her--” She looked at him pleadingly, almost in tears. “I meant the lady no harm, ser. I swear on all the Seven gods. When I saw her torn foot and blood all over the floor, I froze. I was just too scared to tell her, worried you might punish me or throw me out.”

Jaime decided to let her go with a warning, not wanting to torment her any further. “Take care it doesn’t happen again.”

Relief washing over her face, she nodded, mumbling a stuttering gratitude. When she was about to leave, Jaime called out, “Did she tell you where she was going?”

“No, m’lord.” The girl took a second to reconsider. “But she did look disturbed and told me to pack her things, ready for her to leave when she returns.”

Question after question barged into Jaime’s head. The wedding was the day after. Had she suddenly changed her mind? Why? Had Cersei bitten her with some of her poison before he could get to her?

“You may go now,” he dismissed the girl.

And for the second time in just a span of a few hours, he found himself locking horns with his sister.

“I had just been to see her. That is all.” Before he could lay down his list of accusations, she was quick to jump to her defense. “It isn’t wrong to inquire after my good sister’s health, is it?”

Her smug smile was a doubtless indication that she’d been up to something. “Did you hurt her?”

“That is a privilege I’ve been forced to relinquish,” she admitted without shame, her bitterness for Brienne naked and raw, the eternally vengeful edge to her tone injecting in him, a fresh dose of panic. “I thought I already told you last night.”

But he wouldn’t put it past her to blatantly lie. And even if she had not resorted anything drastic this time, she was well capable of trying again. 

“Father, unfortunately, wasn’t impressed the last time I took matters in my hands,” Cersei went on, furious that her hands were tied. “He wouldn’t spare me if I resorted to anything more damaging than a few spiteful words--”

_Father!_

If there was one person his sister was intimidated by, it was the formidable head of their house. He had it in him to control her and keep her on a leash. So who better than him to take this problem to? 

And yet again, he didn’t wait for the queen to finish, excusing himself from her company to seek his father’s audience. He should’ve straightaway gone to his father last night. How did this not occur to him?

If his unplanned visit surprised Tywin, he didn’t show it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this interruption?” he demanded, once he’d dismissed the men he had been holding a conference with.

“Cersei,” Jaime blurted, urgent and desperate to get to the bottom of the matter.

Tywin put away the scrolls on his desk and got up. “Not _this_ again. How many times do I have to tell you--”

“Brienne isn’t in her room.” With mounting worry, came a squeezing pain in his chest and a flurry of dreadful possibilities of what might have happened to her. “I have reasons to believe Cersei has--”

“Cersei won’t harm her again. I’ve seen to that,” Tywin gave him his confident word. “When I uncovered her deeds the last time, I slapped her with a warning good enough to last her forever.”

“Then what could’ve possibly led to Brienne’s abrupt disappearance?” Jaime thought aloud. “She tried once. She’s going to do it again, particularly when I told her last night that I--”

“That you… what?” Tywin butted in, lines of disapproval and suspicion making an immediate appearance on his forehead, his piercing eyes, trying their best to strip down Jaime’s mind to their deepest and barest thoughts. “Did you sneak in to see your sister last night?”

Jaime said nothing, his anxious silence, his affirmation.

“This has to stop,” his father began to reprimand him for the wrong reason. “If the king gets wind of your frequent meetings and dalliances--”

“I told Cersei that I love Brienne,” he quietly admitted. This was all his fault, the outcome of his impulsive outburst. If he’d kept his mouth shut instead of openly shouting out his feelings for Brienne, he wouldn’t have stirred Cersei’s wrath. He had poked a sleeping lioness in the eye and the wench was now facing the consequences.

“You… what?” his father asked again, stepping closer as if to make sure he’d got it right.

“I’m in love with Brienne,” Jaime confessed for the second time, his conviction and his feelings for her strengthening with every passing moment. “I can’t live with myself if any harm comes to her.”

His father bestowed upon him a rare smile and an even rarer look of pride. “Find her and bring her back then. I don’t think she would’ve left the city without Lord Selwyn.” A comforting pat on the shoulder was an added gesture of affection. “The wedding will take place this evening instead of the day after, and you both shall leave for the Rock tomorrow morning. No more delay, is that understood?”

Jaime could only nod, suddenly dizzy, with joy or apprehension, or both, he couldn’t say.

“Don’t worry about Cersei,” his father emphatically assured him. “I’ll give her a piece of my mind again and she will know better than to interfere in matters she ought to stay away from.”

His head bursting with a hundred things to attend to, Jaime stepped out, his father’s reassurance encouraging him to do the right thing.

“Son?” called Tywin, just when he was about to leave.

He stopped, wondering what further instructions awaited him.

“You made the right choice. I’m proud of you.”

 _You gave me no choice,_ Jaime wanted to remind him, to point out that he’d been forced into this, but it didn’t matter anymore.

It had all worked out for his good, opening his eyes to his sister’s true face, showing him what love really meant. The only thing he could do now was to find Brienne hope for the day to end well.

With her as his wife, in his arms, as it should be.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*****

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_“He doesn’t love you.”_

Brienne wished she could take a brisk long walk around, to wear herself out so she could think no more, to tire her mind until Cersei’s words tormented her no more, but the damned cuts on her foot deprived her of this little privilege.

 _“He can never love an ugly wench like you.”_ Every word was the sad truth, a dagger to her heart, a venom worse than that of a viper’s bite. No man would love her, desire her. _“You will be Jaime’s wife, but you can never be his lover. That right has always been mine; will forever be, whether he weds you or another wretched--”_

Unable to dwell on it further, she looked up to the skies, seeking answers, wondering if she had, indeed, displeased the gods so much as to deserve this treatment.

Cersei’s threat, however, was beginning to nudge her out of her isolation, and giving up the serenity the scared atmosphere of the Godswood provided her with, she got up to leave. There was time till evening. She could still speak to Jaime and confide in him.

But seeing him stride towards her with an air of agitation, she stopped.

“Ser Jaime--”

“Gods, here you are!” So out of breath, he was, that he was barely able to speak. When he was close enough, she could make out the concern and fear in his eyes. “I searched everywhere, the gardens, the markets, everyplace we’ve ever been to. Never thought I’d find you here, though. Never thought you believed in the old gods.”

She glanced at the tree. “The peace and quiet of this place soothes my nerves,” she said, recalling how his sister’s parting instructions had left her numb and helpless for a while. “Helps me gather my thoughts when I have too much on my mind.”

His eyes were a tidal wave, waiting to rise and consume her. “What did Cersei tell you?”

“To abandon this wedding and leave King’s Landing by sundown.” She shuddered at the thought of what the queen had threatened her with, next. “If I wish to keep my father alive, I must never see you again--”

“And you decided to stay out of sight and deal with this situation by yourself?” he complained, the cold fury in his eyes making him look every bit the ferocious lion he was known to be. “If only you had come to me as soon as this happened and confided--”

“I did come to meet you. You weren’t there and I was handed this by your man.” She held out a crumpled piece of parchment, the pain the words had pinched her with, an emotion her rational mind had urged her to let go of, pointing out to her that this might most likely be Cersei’s evil ploy.

 _I don’t wish to see you again, Brienne,_ it said, blunt and crude and more unkind than Septa Roelle’s words. _I love my sister and only her and I cannot bring myself to wed you or anyone else. Even if we do marry, I can never be yours. Expect not that I whisper sweet nothings in your ears or woo you. Nor will I ever kiss you or bed you, for you will never truly be my wife. Be gone and never step in my path again._

His eyes narrowed to thin slits of rage as he read it, and when he’d made it to the end of the cruel note, he crumpled it and gripped it hard as if wanting to strangle it to death. “And you chose to believe this load of shit instead of talking to me?” he asked, looking terribly hurt and crushed.

“Of course, I didn’t. Well, not entirely.” While she couldn’t dispute his love for Cersei, what she couldn’t believe was this harsh letter. Jaime would never truly be hers, but he would never be this unkind to her.

He advanced and she retreated until he’d cornered her against the bench she’d been sitting on. “Not _entirely_? Would you mind elaborating, my lady?”

“You would never let a hair be harmed on my father’s head, that I’m sure of, and--” She turned away, unable to meet his eyes, unwilling to let him see her pain. 

“And?” He had not laid a finger on her, but she could feel his closeness, the sensations it reawakened in her, threatening to push themselves to the fore and make their presence felt. “Go on, wench.”

“You wouldn’t call off this--this--” So much his presence affected her, that she found herself unduly nervous and stuttering. “You care too much for your family to turn your back to this wedding.”

“Is that all, Brienne?” 

When his chest brushed her back, her heart missed a beat and she almost shuddered. “I think so.” 

“And you _think_ you’re right?” Soft, yet raspy, he sounded like a million emotions lay trapped in his throat, waiting to break out of their confinement, to be expressed. Could it be that he too--

She turned to face him, to see it in his eyes, but as soon she moved, her injured foot could take it no more, burning the hell out of her, caving in under the strain of all the walking she’d put it through in the past hour or so. 

Staggering slightly, she was to seek the support of the bench, to sit down and nurse her aching foot, but Jaime proved to be a step ahead of her. 

Exactly like he’d been there for her that drunken night, his arms went around her, drawing her to the comforting pressure of his body against hers. “I know not how to whisper sweet nothings to a lady,” he admitted, his eyes, innocently helpless. “And I may be terrible at wooing and courtship and tossing you a compliment or two.”

All the instances he’d infuriated her, all the times he had made an attempt and she’d failed to understand him, the motive behind his words and deeds came back to her, and she couldn’t resist a small smile.

“But I told you I’d never let you fall, my lady,” he went on, his thumb straying across her lips, tracing the curve of them. “And by never, I really do mean _never_.” He nudged his face to hers, so close, that his whiskers tickled her, sending down a very different message to her groin, and all she could do was blink incessantly and drink him in, the passion in his voice, the affection in his eyes, the heat in his touch when he let his hand wander down her throat, stopping tantalizingly every inch or so as he explored her skin, scorching her, torturing her.

“Ser Jaime--” A lot, she wanted to tell him, but he was barely letting her breathe, and to speak, would be a luxury.

“Not _ser_ anymore,” Jaime affectionately corrected her. “You are to be my wife--” He faltered, withdrawing slightly, doubt still clouding his face. “If you still feel the same for Renly--”

“Renly, I’ve heard, is quite competent in wooing and courtship,” she leapt in before he could finish, keen to put an end to his misunderstanding, “but he wasn’t the one who risked his life for me.”

“I love you, Brienne.” His words brought such warmth to her heart that she feared she might die of happiness. “Marry me,” he said, pressing his mouth to her cheek.

“We _are_ getting married,” she reminded him.

“I know, but I never got the chance to ask you properly then.” He let his lips lazily stroll all over her face, her cheeks, her nose, along her jawline… wreaking havoc on every bit of skin he met. “Will you be mine, my lady?” 

“Yes,” she breathed, dizzy with the kisses he was raining her with. “Not for our families this time, not because of any oath or promises, but for _myself_ ,” she brought herself to say it, at last. “For us. Because I love you, Jaime.”

When he could stand it no more, his lips sought hers, the hunger, the desire, the ache in the way he began devouring her, leaving her helpless and moaning in his arms. Unlike the drunken surrender the last time, this was _him_ , in full consciousness and all hers. This searing kiss, their bodies and minds, their love for each other with the gods as witnesses - for now, the world was nought but that. She had no Cersei to compete with, no doubts about his affection, no second thoughts. His need for her was unabashed and naked, as was the urgency in his tongue to plunge deeper, to taste her, to quench his thirst. He held her to his chest, his hands all over her, wandering beneath her shirt, pressing and squeezing and stroking her, and with lust she’d never felt for another man, she kissed him back, drifting away into his touch, to another world, to a realm her Septa believed she could never set foot in.

Brienne took a moment to gather herself when he pulled back, her eyelids fluttering open when she could manage it to meet his gaze. “My wife, the queen of my heart,” he said fondly, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ears. “Has anyone ever told you that you have eyes so pretty that they could put the brightest sapphires to shame?”

“You’re getting better at wooing,” she teased, trying not to blush at the praise, “and at whispering sweet nothings--”

“I can do much more than that, wench.” He lifted her in his arms, taking her by surprise. 

Not of a womanly build by any standards, she feared his recklessness might cost him his back. “What are you doing, Jaime?”

“Taking my bride home.” Jaime leaned to plant another kiss on her mouth. “To where she rightfully belongs.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding... and the wedding night :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, a good chunk of this chapter is smut (note the change in rating)

_Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger._

Marriage, a family, a life outside the Kingsguard...

Not long back, if anyone had suggested he’d fall for these, Jaime would’ve scoffed at them.

And yet, here he was...

_I am hers and she is mine._

For years, he had been rebelling against his father’s iron-handed authority. Ever since he’d reached a marriageable age, he had been finding ways to stay close to Cersei, to dodge every matchmaking attempt, seeking refuge in his sword and his sister’s forbidden arms. If it was wrong, so be it. If the world called him a sinner for what was love in his eyes, such a world be damned. If his father shunned him, disowned him for his passion, he was ready to leave everything behind. The night she had charmed him with her sweet words and her pretty face, he had made up his mind. He could pledge himself to no one but her. 

And yet, tonight, his hand was bound to a woman he’d outright rejected at first…

_I am his and he is mine._

For as long as he could remember, he’d loved his sister dearly. How he’d burned with jealousy and rage whenever he’d stood guard to Robert ruthlessly fucking her! How many days he’d wished he had been born a Targaryen! How many nights in her arms, he’d whispered in her ear that he’d free her from the man who saw a dead woman in her. He would make her his, one day, he had repeatedly assured her.

And yet, tonight, he stood before a crowd and the gods, leaning in to kiss another woman, the thin strand of twilight between night and day, sealing their union as he sealed her lips with his. 

Yes, Brienne was his, and he was hers, and forever they would belong together, as the Seven bound their fates to one. 

No more than a chaste kiss, this one could be, widely unlike their drunken first and the scorching battle of tongues they’d engaged in that morning, but the power she had on him was so immense that his heart was left pounding hard and his head, empty of everything but his wife.

“I will always be yours,” he promised his radiant bride, then taking her hand, he led her down the aisle to the midst of the applauding crowd waiting to congratulate them. 

They first made their way to Tyrion who was beaming, wringing his hand and kissing Brienne’s, and then to the two fathers who were gazing upon them with pride and a sense of achievement.

“May the Seven bless you, my child,” Lord Selwyn wished his daughter, “and you too, Ser Jaime.”

“May you both bring glory and honour to our houses and this union to fruition,” Tywin said, a command, more than a blessing. “I can’t await the day you give us the grandchildren who would, one day, take our places.”

Blushing heavily, Brienne answered him with a coy nod and a whispered, “My lord.”

They moved on, with the king showering them with his blessings. Tommen and Myrcella were close behind, their warmth, innocent and infectious. But Cersei kept a careful distance. A smile on her pretty face, icy, though it was, was only a veil to hide her true feelings. One only had to pry into her eyes, and they could easily make out the truth. 

Cersei aside, there was one other thing that was bothering him, and once they had thanked their parents and exchanged a few more pleasantries, Jaime led his father aside.

“If it’s your sister you’re worried about,” Tywin began to placate him before he could say anything, “I’ve warned her enough, threatened her with consequences and kept her on a tight--”

“It’s not about Cersei. There will be no bedding ceremony tonight, father.” If there was one thing he detested more than anything else, it was this ritual and the immense disrespect it brought to women.

His father tried to read his eyes, presumably to find out if there was any buried unfavourable intent behind his decision. “But you will, I hope?”

The vague question left him blank. “I will… what?”

“Bed her tonight,” Tywin unabashedly announced his expectation. “Waste no time, son. Bed your wife and put a child in her.” Jaime felt his face ignite, the prospect of the night to come, hitting him with anxiety of the unknown and the eagerness to make her happy, with arousal and the need to be one with her.

“Jaime?”

“Y--yes,” he said, memories of that drunken night returning in a flash, throwing at his face, how much he wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to do way more than that. Tonight would be the last of her maidenhood, and he wanted to make it a memorable one for her. “I will.”

With a patronizing pat to his shoulder, his father assured, “Consider it done then.”

Jaime returned to his wife to find her deeply engaged in conversation with Olenna Tyrell. He stopped a few feet short, having mixed feelings for the old woman. One half of him wished to wring her neck while the other wanted to gush out his thanks.

“Ah, here comes your handsome husband, my dear!” she exclaimed, beckoning him to join them.

“Lady Olenna.” He greeted her with a kiss to her hand.

The ancient pair of eyes latched onto his in interrogation, a punishing ordeal which made his father look a lot better in comparison. “I never expected _you_ to succumb to your father’s whims, Ser Jaime,” she remarked, as if he’d disappointed her. “You, of all the men, I presumed, would wed for love and not for his house or family--”

“Oh, for love, it is, my lady.” Jaime took his wife’s hand, straightening the prying old woman’s understanding.

“Really? And who, exactly, are we trying to convince here?” Olenna looked from him to Brienne, then back to him with a conspirial smirk. “I _know_ things about you, Ser Jaime--”

“Then you also must be well aware that I’d only give myself to the woman who holds my heart,” he shot back, pressing his thumb into Brienne’s palm. “Didn’t you, yourself, just make that very accurate conclusion, my lady?”

Olenna’s pointed gaze went sweeping across the hall. “And what does your _family_ \--” she looked directly at Cersei “--think of this union?”

Jaime turned to Brienne, who lost some of the lovely colour on her cheeks at this uncomfortable intervention. “My father has always wanted this and Tyrion has a new sister he adores.” 

A tough old nut, Olenna persisted with picking his eyes for information. “What about the Queen?”

“She and the king are here to convey their regards.” He met Cersei’s eyes who granted him a smile, insincere, exaggerated, a pretence to fool the outside world, though it was. “What more can I ask for?”

The old woman regarded brother and sister. “You’ve found yourself a fine match, Ser Jaime,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Lady Brienne might not be your typical woman, but her skills in combat aren’t a matter to be taken lightly.” She looked at Brienne with motherly warmth and a twinkle in her eyes. “But more than anything else, her heart is true.”

Jaime found himself returning her smile. “Now, all of that, I definitely agree with, my lady.”

+++++

“Here we are,” he said, holding the door to his life and his chambers open, his eyes full of dreams for their future, his heart, swelling with joy and contentment to the extent that it might burst. 

Brienne hesitated, lingering by the entrance.

Eager to ease away any apprehension she might harbour, Jaime scooped her in his arms, taking her by surprise. “I could carry you,” he mischievously offered, “if you choose--”

“I can walk.” Her shy eyes begged him to free her. “You did it once and I’m sure you must have suffered an awful backache--”

“It was nothing.” He stepped across the threshold with his bashful new bride in his arms and kicked the door shut, welcoming her into his life. “I’m strong enough to do this over and over again,” he purred into her ear, deriving immense satisfaction in the way the blood rushed to her face. “We could spar in our room every night.” His pulse picking up, he decided to be more specific. “With our clothes off, preferably.” Vivid images danced all over his head, assisting him with how exactly he would want their delicious duel to unfold. “I would overpower you and fling you down, and when you’ve yielded, I’d carry you to our bed--”

“What gives you the idea you’re going to win all the time?” The feminine coyness had given way to the warrior, and there emerged in her, a thirst for a challenge. “I made a mistake once. That isn’t to say that I’d err the same way again.”

“It gets even better if you win,” he said, kissing her neck. “You can do _whatever_ you want with me, wench. _Anything_.” The high probability of her beating the hell out of him was so damn thrilling, that his cock wholeheartedly concurred with him.

Wriggling delightfully in his arms when he reached out to catch her earlobe between his teeth, she said, “For now you could start with putting me down, Jaime,” her voice slightly trembling, the softness returning to her features.

He did, but only after he’d taken her to a tall figure wrapped in a sheet. “I have something for you. A wedding gift.” He pulled away the cover and stepped back to watch her reaction. “I hope you like it.”

Moving closer, she touched the suit of armour. “You offered to get one made for me when we first--”

“I know you turned me down that day but I’d still decided to go ahead and--”

She grasped his hand. “It’s the best gift ever.”

“You are my equal, Brienne, and not just a wife to warm my bed and raise my children. I would never even dream of depriving you of the life you crave.” 

She said no more, but he could hear it all. Kissing her fingers, slowly, one at a time, he expressed the doubt that had been clawing at him for days. “I hope I got your measurements right.”

Disbelief, elation, the feeling of not knowing what to do with the knowledge that she was loved and adored - it was all there in her soft smile and her shy admission when she said, “You are so unlike other men.”

“Even Renly?” he teased, nipping at her forefinger.

Scowling, she jerked her hand free. “Shut up.”

With that matter ending there, they both stood there in awkward silence. While she took to admiring her new gift, he was more than content with admiring her, only in the privilege of their privacy, taking the time to look at her properly. And he was quite enamored by what he saw. This was one of the rare occasions she’d worn clothes so feminine and hugging her curves, and as his eyes traveled to her chest, rising and falling as she breathed, the anticipation of what he would soon uncover beneath this exquisite fabric began to rob him of his patience and self-restraint. 

The passing seconds made it worse, and he was a man intoxicated by desire and the woman beside him, his body catching fire, one only her touch could douse. Such a need… such arousal… it was so unbearable, that he’d explode to shreds if he didn’t tear off her clothes and get his hands and mouth all over her naked skin.

“Brienne,” was all he could say, hoarse and husky, his speech impaired by the sight before him.

When she left her scrutiny of the armour, he saw it in her eyes. Her hunger and passion. Her need to be touched. The ache to be one with him…

Stroking her arm down to her elbows, he reached for her waist. Her eyes, expectant, her lips fell apart, full and moist and inviting him to devour them. Slowly, tentatively, he brought his other hand to her neck and along her jawline, spreading his fingers over her smooth skin, feeling her, letting the sensation of her sink into every pore, invade every nerve, ensnare his senses. Sliding his hand back around the nape of her neck, he grazed his lips against hers. When she shivered beneath his hand, he deepened the kiss, teasing and coaxing her mouth open with his tongue, and she threw herself into his arms, her hands all over his chest and back, her little moans and throaty sounds ordering him to take this beyond merely a kiss. 

He gave in to her unspoken demand, gliding his hand up her waist and exploring the curvy path up her side, his pants getting tighter when he pictured what lay beneath the smooth fabric. She drew him closer when he squeezed her breast, her breathing tightening into a strangled noise when his fingers went astray, kneading and rubbing, groping and caressing her over the silk.

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, she began kissing him harder, her tongue, her teeth all over his mouth. 

And that was more than he could withstand.

Frantic and desperate, he took to undressing her as swiftly as he could, but it was too complicated, the laces, the layers, and that they couldn’t cease kissing, wasn’t helping him. Impatient, he tugged at her sleeve in frustration and pulled it down, ripping out a stitch or two on his way. The sound of the cloth tearing mingled with her furious breathing kicked up his arousal, driving him to attack the other sleeve, but before he could do more damage, she firmly pushed him away. “If you keep going like this, you’ll ruin my gown.”

“I don’t--” _care,_ he began to say, blinded by a thick sheet of lust, but held his words when she took charge of her clothes. Careful and nimble, she began to work her way out of the dress, and Jaime took a second to stand back and gather himself. 

This was their wedding night, not some stolen moment with Cersei where he had to finish off and disappear for fear of getting caught. They had the whole night to uncover every intimate bit about each other. And their whole lives to fuck like a pair of insatiable animals. A virgin shunned by men for her looks, Brienne deserved a lot better for her first time. She needed to be gently introduced to his touch, to be caressed and embraced, to be kissed, and he resolved to give her the night she’d cherish all her life, to make slow, sweet love to her, to treat her like a princess.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, ravishing her with his eyes when she stood before him wearing no more than the skin the gods had sent her with. 

“Shut up,” she said again, and dragged him by his tie. He let her have her way when she began to undress him, one after the other, undoing every layer, meticulously, uncovering him. When she had taken off his shirt, she slowed down, her fingertips lazily strolling down his collarbone, stopping to play with his patch of chest hair, following the thinning trail down his stomach…

When she went further below, he closed his eyes to let the sensation wash over him, to await with bated breath, everything that was to come.

But upon meeting the edge of his trousers, she hesitated.

“Go on,” he encouraged, guiding her shaking fingers to the laces on his waist. “I’m all yours.” 

Gulping down her reservations, she took his lead, and when she’d unwrapped him in entirety, her eyes fell to his erection, darkening with apprehension and lust.

“Oh, Brienne.”

Drawing her back into his arms, Jaime captured her lips again. Kissing their way across the room, barely even watching where they were going, they fell together when they stumbled on the bed. Folded into an embrace, they lay sideways, his chest pressed to her back. “You’d never even have dreamed of landing up in my bed, I’m sure,” he teased, nuzzling her neck.

“I actually did,” she squeaked, squirming when his beard rubbed all over the delicate patch of smooth skin. “I dreamed of you. Many times.”

“And?” he prompted, leaving a wet trail of his tongue along her neck. “Was I good?” Tracing a line along her arm with the tip of his fingernail, he went all the way down, meeting her hand, linking his fingers in hers. “Did I pleasure you to your satisfaction?”

A breathy, “ _Oh,_ ” his inquiry was met with, when he slipped his leg between hers, wedging himself into position.

“Is this better than your dreams?” 

He stepped up his onslaught by caressing the dark skin around her nipples, and she wriggled her taut arse against his stiff cock, her answer, an open-mouthed puff of heavy exhalation. Moving down to the golden patch between her legs, he spent a while drawing imaginary circles around the mouth of her folds, and when she rewarded him with a high-pitched squeal, he ran a delicate line of his touch along her slit, every second of this, a test to his restraint.

Her breath quickening, she met his eyes, her lips, grazing his with a suggestive, “You were… well, what can I say?” Her face glowed with the fire that burned within her, one that would consume them both, reduce them to ashes. “Every single time you took me, you left me crying for more.”

He had to make this better then, wilder than her wildest fantasies, something she could never have dreamed of before. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them against the bed and kissed her again. Her breasts felt fuller than they were, deliciously supple, and he dipped down, taking a mouthful of one... biting, sucking, licking that lush, smooth skin. Her taut nipples responded beautifully to the promise of what was to come as he kept up the tease, prodding them, tonguing them, provoking them to stand up harder than they were.

“You know, there’s always room for improvement,” he growled, then pushed her down to her back. 

Spreading her legs wide, he stooped between them, going face-first into her, his tongue writhing on its way to her hot, moistening core. His cock was straining to be inside her, but that could wait for a while. This would be her night, and to have her kicking and screaming in ecstasy was his ardent intent. Kissing her opening, he pushed one finger inside her, and she moaned aloud, pressing down his back with her heels. “Gods,” she cried, and arched her hips, pushing her cunt deeper into his mouth. He’d never seen a woman writhing in passion like this, never tasted one, her burning wet centre, a feast, unlike another. 

He pulled out to get some air, and she made a noise like an angry goose, urging him back inside, and when he went back to fucking her with his fingers, she gripped his shoulders hard, her heels furiously rubbing up and down his back in helplessness.

He glanced back up at her, the sight he met, hitting his groin with another bolt of lust and a fucking need to pound away mercilessly into her. She was a living picture of beauty and hunger and desire - her half-shut eyes, her laboured breathing, her hands all over her breasts, pinching and squeezing and seeking respite from the torment he was putting her through, the lines of sweat trickling down her chest and stomach. His fingers running riot inside her, he sucked on her clit, kissing and tasting her, drinking in her wetness, and when he had tormented her little bead of pleasure enough, leaving it throbbing like hell under his tongue, she pushed his head down further, an unladylike raspy noise greeting him from somewhere deep within her throat.

So close to her collapse, she was, that he knew he had to ease his way out of her. He couldn’t let her come. Not until she’d had a feel of _him_.

“Am I living up to your dreams so far?” he asked, sliding back up onto her body and pinning her down to the bed.

Giving her no time to answer, he guided his cock into her opening, gently, giving her a measured feel of him with every move, careful not to hurt her. When he hit a barrier, he slid out of her, and with a reassuring kiss to her mouth, he plunged in again, absorbing her soft sigh when he breached her maidenhead and dived all the way in.

Eyes closed, Brienne lay back, still, but for her chest rising and dropping irregularly, and he let her take her time. He let her breathe. He let it sink in when he breathed in her skin. She was truly his now. And he was hers. It was something he’d never felt before with Cersei. So intimate, so special… it felt like they fit together, like they were made for each other.

“Show me the stars,” she croaked, meeting his eyes with an intense gaze when she’d recovered. “Just like in my dreams.”

Chest heaving, she pushed up her hips to take all he had, and in, he went, again, deeper this time, pausing when he was down into her to the hilt, and she bit his lip, discomfort turning into a feral need for him. She shifted her arse, and gods, she was tight! She wrapped her legs around him, and he gasped like a young man having his first woman. If she continued to squeeze him like that, he’d soon be dead.

He began moving, filling her with rhythmic, languid strokes. The sensation of her gradually expanding muscles drove him so insane that he could feel the blood pounding in his ears. “Gods, this is heaven!” he cried, sinking his teeth into her collarbone, never having felt like this before. She dug her nails into his arms, her eyes screaming with urgency, and he sped up, happy to oblige, aching now, to bring their agony to an end. 

Not just the stars, he’d take her to the moon, show her worlds she’d never been to before. 

“Fuck,” she hoarsely cursed when he kept ramming into her, raising her hips to meet him every time he went in. Spurred on by her uncharacteristic swearing, the sound of his balls slapping her thighs and her throaty noises which were steadily getting louder, he thrust harder, faster, groaning, shouting out her name, his thumb grinding against her clit, feeling her pulsate under him every time he moved.

He slowed to let her draw breath and when they picked up pace again _,_ he began fondling her breasts and showering the column of her neck with sloppy, wet kisses. “ _Yes,_ ” she screamed, scratching down his back. “Please, _please_ ,” she begged, egging him on, harder, yelling for him to never stop. 

And he kept going like she wanted, obeying his lady’s command, burning with her in this blistering moment of torture... until she could take it no more.

When her walls caved in around him bringing her closer to her end, she trembled and screamed out her climax, clutching desperately at his arms, her calves pressing into his legs, her lips, open and wet against his throat when she was done and spent.

He kept on, almost there, the beginning of his end at sight, the end of such a lovely beginning. 

Any time. Any moment...

And then, his cock exploded, sending him soaring to the skies, his mind, his body, his soul screaming out his love for this incredible woman in this magical moment. Falling back on her, he let himself drift away in her scent. One with her in everything, their bodies fused together, the breath they shared and the hearts that beat under their chests, he lay in her arms, soaked in her sweat, entranced by the sensation of her warm, flushed skin under his, thoroughly overwhelmed by the tenderly sweet way in which she kept uttering his name, the word, music to his ears, and the way she said it, making him want to pleasure her all over again.

Jaime glanced up at her serene and satisfied face, the innocence in her, unleashing a fresh wave of emotions in him. A thousand deaths, he’d die for her, a million assassins, he’d battle to keep her safe. For once, after giving himself to a woman, he felt complete, at peace and madly in love. When she gently ran her fingers through his hair, for the first time in his life, he felt loved, cared-for and wanted. 

“So, my lady,” he said, licking a salty droplet that lazily rolled down her neck. “What might your judgement be? Would you favour me or the man in your dreams?”

Brienne brought her smiling lips to his. “What dreams?”

+++++

_Two years later…_

  
  
  


There she was, as always, by the window, dreamily watching the star-studded sky.

Jaime quietly tiptoed down to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “What are you looking at?” he asked, stroking her swollen belly.

Her hand crept over his. “Admiring the moon.”

Pressing his lips to the nape of her neck, he murmured, “The moon doesn’t interest me anymore.”

She wriggled around in his embrace, large, innocent eyes gazing down his. “Why so?” 

“Because--” he leaned across to kiss her forehead “--my moon’s right here. In my arms.”

With a little laugh that was music to his ears, Brienne playfully pushed him away. “Day by day you’re getting more and more dramatic. What happened to that cutting mockery?”

He recalled the day he had proposed to her, of the contents Cersei’s planted letter had borne. “I’m learning to woo you,” he teasingly admitted, “to whisper sweet nothings in your ears, to shower you with compliments.”

She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him back to her. “You know you don't have to.”

“I know, but I _want_ to,” he said, eager to cherish every second of his life with her. 

Brienne smiled, then glanced down at her stomach. “What do you think it’ll be?”

“A girl,” he said, immediately imagining a smaller copy of his wife running around, brandishing little wooden swords. “And I want her to be like you.”

The joy in her eyes lifted to let disappointment make its unwelcome presence felt. “Ugly--”

Jaime stopped her mouth with his. “Innocent.” He kissed her again. “True of heart and a warrior even the best of men fear. With eyes so pretty, that they’d put the loveliest sapphires to shame. A beauty, not just in looks.”

That brought another fond smile to her face. “And if it’s a son, I want him to be like you, Jaime.”

He frowned. “I don’t think that's--”

It was her turn to stop him with a kiss. “An honourable man,” she whispered, eyes brimming with love. “There are no men like you, Jaime. Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, at the end of yet another tale. A heartfelt thank you to everyone who've been through this with me. Your comments, your kudos and even if you've been silently reading - it all matters the world to me!
> 
> Stay healthy and stay safe.


End file.
